Badcock

by Debra Glass

  She would enjoy two more heavenly days with him before she had to face the world as a man’s mistress. Surely there would be scandal. She would be the subject of gossip for the entire season or until some other controversy occurred to catch the ton’s attention but secluded in an apartment or traveling abroad, it wouldn’t matter.

  Sophia only hoped Jack’s marriage to Lady Hilda would not crush her. Knowing he would be sharing the bed of another woman—even if only to produce heirs—broke Sophia’s heart.

  After retrieving her chemise from the branch of a tree, she slipped it over her head.

  “Well, well,” a voice startled her. “If it isn’t Lord Stafford’s whore.”

  Sophia froze as her gaze collided with Lord Wisbech’s. Incredulous, she blinked but he was still there. “Where’s…where’s Jack?” she asked.

  Dressed in black, Lord Wisbech appeared sinister. Sophia tensed as he started toward her. “Jack?” he asked and a rueful smile stretched his thin lips. “Jack is dead, my dear.”

  Sophia trembled. She gaped. “D-dead?” she asked but her mind refused to accept it. “Where is he? Where?” Her voice rose hysterically.

  Ralph smirked. “Lying on Hounslow Road with a bullet through his chest. Cut down by a highwayman.”

  Realization stunned her. “You killed him. You…you bastard!” Anger engulfed her like an inferno. Her first reaction was to fly at him, fists flailing but somehow she resisted the urge. The pistol. Jack’s pistol was inside on the bedside table. He’d left it to keep her safe and he’d died because he’d been more interested in protecting her than himself. Guilt seethed, vying to override her rage.

  Lord Wisbech advanced. Murder and revenge flashed in his eyes. He would kill her, too. Sophia did not doubt it. Lunging, she raced toward the lodge but Ralph followed on her heels, subduing her easily.

  Heart thundering, she kicked and flailed at him. She flinched when her nails raked down his heavily powdered face. “You bitch!” he railed and slapped her so hard with the back of his hand that she sprawled to the ground.

  The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and she spat as she scrambled to regain her feet. His hand knotted in her hair and he yanked hard, dragging her back toward the creek.

  Sophia struggled, clawing at his hands, scrabbling on the ground as she tried to gain some semblance of footing but all to no avail. The scream that tore from her throat died as he hauled her into the creek and pushed her head under the water.

  Panic surged as she fought to hold her breath. Just when her thoughts began to dim, he pulled her above water. She gasped and sputtered.

  “I told you I would kill you if you embarrassed me again,” he said and plunged her back under the water.

  Sophia did not doubt that she would die this day. Part of her welcomed it. She could not go on without Jack.

  An eerie calm descended over her and there was only the water rushing around her ears and the sound of her last breath bubbling out of her lungs. Acceptance that she was about to die inundated her and without warning, Ralph wrenched her back to the surface. “That should take the fight out of you,” he said. Confusion muddled her brain as he heaved her back toward the bank.

  Coughing up water, she was no match for his masculine strength as he lifted her and shouldered her back to the lodge. Why hadn’t he just let her drown? Why?

  His hand squeezed her backside and Sophia suddenly knew why he hadn’t killed her. He intended to rape her!

  Summoning all the strength she had left, she pummeled his back with her fists and kicked her feet but it was too late.

  With a laugh, he flung her onto the bed. Careful not to glance in the direction of the pistol lest Ralph see it and take it from her, she propped on her elbows and burned at stare into him. Loathing consumed her.

  “You’re vile,” she told him.

  He tore the fall of his breeches down and Sophia’s gaze dropped to where his cock reared from a nest of white-blonde curls. She inched backward but he seized her ankle and dragged her back down. He grasped at her free foot but she wrenched free and jammed her heel into his face. Her eyes widened when she heard his nose crunch.

  Wailing, he took two faltering steps backward, covering his bleeding nose with his hands. “You bloody wretch!” he bellowed but as he charged for her again, she scuttled backward, groping for the pistol.

  With a coolness she had no idea she possessed, she aimed the weapon, pulled back the hammer and squeezed the trigger. The pistol discharged with an earsplitting blast. Acrid smoke filled the air. Lord Wisbech’s eyes rounded as his hand went to his chest. Stunned, Sophia watched as the life drained out of his face and he wilted to the floor with a thud.

  Shaking and gasping for breath, she scrambled to the edge of the bed, ready to beat him with the butt of the pistol if he wasn’t already dead. His eyes stared, fixed on nothing.

  A sob racked her shoulders. “Jack,” she murmured under her breath.

  “Sophia!”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She whirled to discover Jack, his hand over his chest. Blood oozed between his fingers. “Sophia,” he gasped and collapsed in the threshold.

  “Jack!” she cried and darted to his side.

  “Wisbech …”

  “He’s dead,” she said, trying to examine Jack’s wound.

  His skin was so pale, Sophia feared the worst. She knew nothing about dressing an injury. Her joy at seeing Jack alive quickly turned to cold terror. “What do I do?” she asked.

  “I need a…a physician. Leave me here and go to Amberley—” he said but Sophia interrupted.

  “I won’t leave you. Can you ride at all?”

  “Armageddon’s been shot, too.” Jack coughed and Sophia blanched at the sight of blood on his lips.

  She had to make a decision and she had to do it fast. Her gaze flew to the horse and then back to Jack. “I’ll walk if I have to but I’m not leaving you here,” she argued.

  Instinctively, she snatched the sheet off the bed and tore the edge of it with her teeth so she could rip it into strips. Hands trembling, she quickly used the remnants to staunch Jack’s bleeding. He groaned when she pressed hard against the wound. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice quavering.

  His skin had grown icy. “You’re going to be fine,” she said as she worked to secure the makeshift dressing. “I’ll get you home.”

  He didn’t fight her as she scooped her arm under his shoulders and coaxed him to stand. With difficulty, he leaned against her and allowed her to help him back to his horse.

  Armageddon nickered in protest as Jack hefted himself into the saddle. He slumped down on the horse’s neck, clinging to the animal’s coarse black mane. Sophia rushed into the house and returned with a blanket. After throwing it over Jack, she climbed into the saddle behind him and took the reins, saying a silent prayer the horse was strong enough to make the trek back to Amberley.

  Sophia didn’t care that she wore nothing more than her chemise. Her only concern was Jack. Unmoving, he lay lifeless across the horse’s thick neck. Fearing the worst, she kept her hand on his back to make certain he was breathing. A lump welled in her throat but she refused to give in to tears. Not now. If Jack was going to die, she didn’t want the last thing he heard on this earth to be her sobs.

  “Jack?” she asked as the horse finally stepped out of the woods and onto the road leading to Jack’s estate.

  He grunted.

  “We’re almost there, darling. I promise I will see you safely home,” she promised.

  He muttered something she could not discern and she didn’t have the heart to ask him to repeat it. At least he was conscious enough to make a sound.

  Armageddon stumbled and Sophia’s heart skipped a beat. “Don’t stop now, horse.” She squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath until the horse trudged on. Her heart twisted for the stalwart animal but she didn’t have any other choice than to urge him forward.

  Jack’s shoulders slipped and Sophia quickly righted him, sighing her
relief when he moaned. “Don’t leave me, Jack,” she whispered. “Please don’t leave me.”

  This was all her fault. If only she’d married Lord Wisbech as she should have done, none of this would ever have happened. She should have been patient enough to produce heirs for Lord Wisbech and then she could have done whatever she wanted with Jack.

  Foam began to ooze from Armageddon’s mouth. No, no! Don’t die now, horse. Please, it’s just a bit farther.

  She searched the area for a horse, for a carriage for anyone. Where was everyone? Why was there no one else on the road? No one who could help? As it was, she couldn’t push Armageddon any faster but she could lighten his load.

  She slid out of the saddle and taking the reins encouraged the horse to follow her as she picked her way barefoot over the gravely, muddy road.

  The thick woods thinned and up ahead, Amberley loomed like a shining beacon in the afternoon sunlight. “We’re almost there!” Sophia cried, glancing back at Jack.

  He lay motionless across the horse’s back. Terrified, she quickened her pace. “Come on, horse. Faster.”

  Tugging the reins, she half dragged the wounded beast toward the gates at Amberley. She debated running ahead and leaving the straggling animal to proceed as he could but she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Jack.

  At the gate, the horse finally collapsed. Sophia cried out as Armageddon drew his last breath. Jack landed with a grunt on the ground next to the mortally wounded animal.

  “Get Hobbes,” Jack croaked.

  Dragging up the wet hem of her chemise, Sophia flew toward the manor as fast as her feet would carry her.

  A bevy of servants met her halfway up the drive. “Hobbes,” she gasped breathlessly. “I need Hobbes. Lord Stafford is injured.”

  But already, several men were running out to collect their master. Exhausted, Sophia stared after them and just as she started to go to them, a coat encircled her shoulders. “Come inside, my lady.”

  Her gaze clashed with Hobbes’. “But—”

  “The others will bring his lordship. Come inside and let one of the maids see to you,” he said calmly.

  Only then did Sophia look down at her soiled and tattered thin chemise and her bruised and cut feet. Pain she hadn’t allowed herself to feel earlier seemed to soak through her skin straight to her bones.

  “Come inside, my lady,” Hobbes said, gently coaxing her with his arm around her shoulders.

  Half-dazed, she let her gaze wander to where the men were already lifting Jack. A rider blazed down the drive.

  “See, Martin is going for the physician,” Hobbes said. “Come inside where we can care for you.”

  Fighting off the darkness threatening to render her unconscious, Sophia nodded and allowed Hobbes to escort her toward the door. It was only then that she noticed the coach and six in front of the house, a grand conveyance drawn by six magnificent white horses—a coach fit for a queen.

  Or, rather, a countess.

  Sophia faltered. “Is she—”

  “Lady Hilda only just arrived,” Hobbes said.

  Sophia stubbed her toe on the steps leading up to the entry. Hobbes righted her and she stumbled into the house alongside him. The last thing she saw before she mercifully lost consciousness was the most angelic, beautiful, blonde woman she’d ever seen in her life.

  * * * * *

  Slowly, Sophia became aware of silky smooth sheets and the soft, warm mattress. She felt as if she were awakening from a long, deep sleep and then suddenly, everything washed back over her in a heart wrenching torrent.

  Gasping, she bolted upright in the bed. A young servant girl tried to entice her to lie back down on the pillows. “Be still, my lady.”

  Sophia resisted. “Where am I?” she asked, blinking as she took in the lush bed chamber.

  “Amberley.”

  Sophia’s gaze collided with the girl’s. “Jack…”

  The servant pursed her lips.

  Sophia clutched her arms. “Tell me he lives,” she said desperately.

  Something dark and bleak lurked in the girl’s eyes. “The fever is on him.”

  “Fever…”

  “Yes, ma’am. The doctor fears the worst.”

  Sophia fell back on the pillows. “This is all my fault,” she muttered.

  “Ma’am, you should rest. You’ve been through quite an ordeal yourself. Your feet were cut to shreds and your face…”

  Instinctively, Sophia touched her jaw, recalling how Wisbech had sent her reeling. She winced at the shock of pain.

  “It’s terribly bruised, ma’am,” the servant said.

  Realizing she was clad in night clothes, Sophia looked about for a dressing gown. “I must go to him.”

  The servant’s eyes widened. “I’m afraid you can’t do that, ma’am.”

  “Can’t?” Sophia asked. “What do you mean, can’t?”

  The girl cast her eyes down. “His betrothed is with him.”

  Sick realization plummeted to Sophia’s stomach. The woman she had seen in the foyer had been Jack’s fiancée—the German countess. Tears filled Sophia’s eyes and she twisted away so the servant wouldn’t see her crying. “Would you please see how he is doing?” Sophia asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the girl said and slipped out of the room.

  Sophia buried her face in her pillow and shook with sobs. Wisbech had tried to murder her. He’d tried to kill Jack and might yet succeed in doing so. And poor Armageddon…

  Aside from the thought of losing Jack, nothing had ever caused her so much heartache as the knowledge she had no right to be by his side when he might be dying. Why were women willing to give up so much for love while men lived their lives freely?

  It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all. Sophia heard herself say as much aloud. Her heart ached for Jack. He was somewhere in this house, languishing injured in a bed, hurting…wondering…

  He was so close and still, so far from her reach.

  “Sophia?” a strangely accented voice called.

  Sophia lifted her head, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Mortified, she found herself eye to eye with the countess. Instinctively, Sophia drew the covers higher as if she could hide herself from Jack’s angelic bride to be. “Your Grace,” she greeted in a tremulous voice.

  “You are feeling better?” the countess asked.

  Sophia tried to push herself up to sit but lost her resolve. “A little.”

  Every muscle and nerve in her body felt as if it would snap with tension. She had not expected to ever, ever be confronted by the countess. What was worse, Sophia could not tear her eyes from the woman. She’d never seen hair such a pale blonde before. And the countess’s eyes shone as deep blue as an October sky. Her lightly powdered skin was absolutely flawless. Every movement she made attested to her aristocratic blood and upbringing.

  “How is…how is…he?” Sophia asked unable to utter Jack’s name to this woman. Somehow, it seemed far too intimate, too presumptuous.

  The countess’s eyes darkened and her copious bosom rose and fell with a deep breath. “He is…delirious.”

  Sophia’s lips parted. Despite her swimming head and feeble arms, she pushed herself up.

  The countess averted her eyes momentarily before their gazes connected once more. “He calls for you…incessantly.”

  Sophia didn’t dare to hope. Her breathing quickened.

  “I fear he will die,” the countess said. “Will you go to him?”

  Without hesitation, Sophia threw back the covers. “I need a robe,” she said.

  She could scarcely believe a countess was acting as her handmaiden as the beautiful blonde retrieved a dressing gown and rushed to Sophia’s side to help her don it. Her knees shook as she tried to stand. Blackness threatened her vision but Sophia refused to give in.

  “I will help you,” the countess said, hooking an arm around Sophia’s waist.

  Sophia was too stunned, sore and shaky to take in the easy opulence that was Ambe
rley as she leaned heavily on the countess. Luckily, it wasn’t far to Jack’s bed chamber. She feared she would collapse if she had to walk much farther.

  She was hardly prepared for the sight of Jack lying motionless in the center of his monstrous bed. A tired-looking physician passed his bloodletting tools to a waiting servant. He eyed Sophia before going back to the task of binding Jack’s wrist. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

  “Lord Stafford asks for her,” the countess said adamantly.

  Hobbes stood near the wall, his face wan and drawn.

  Sophia shook as she neared the bed.

  “Send for the vicar,” the physician told Hobbes.

  Jack was dying? Sophia refused to believe it. She climbed onto the side of the bed and clasped his cold hand in hers. “Jack?”

  She swallowed thickly. “Jack?”

  “He’s been unresponsive for two days,” the doctor said blandly. “I suggest you make your peace with him.”

  Sophia tenderly brushed Jack’s dark hair back from his forehead. “Darling, I’m here,” she whispered, shutting everything and everyone else out of her thoughts. “I’m with you. I won’t leave you.”

  His hand tightened on hers but she didn’t want to hope. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him—not because of her own selfishness. If only she’d been strong enough to forego love and marry Lord Wisbech …

  “Sophia…” he breathed her name.

  Tears poured down her cheeks. “Don’t leave me, love. Stay here with me. I…I love you, Jack. Please be strong.”

  He heaved a deep breath and a cough rattled in his chest—but his hand still clutched hers with an iron grip.

  * * * * *

  Jack opened his eyes. The room was dark except for a single beeswax candle on the bedside table. The wick had grown long and was in need of trimming. The last few days were a blur. All he could recall was terrible pain in his chest, an excruciating cough, shivering with fevered chills and a soft voice urging him to be strong.

  Vaguely he recalled that a blonde goddess had been in the room—his fiancée, Lady Hilda. There had been talk of her arrival but he had not expected her this soon. Although she had been attentive, he had wanted Sophia.