by Katy Madison
The words were delivered with a mild, amused tone, but there was a hint of steel in his eyes.
Letty gave a choked sob.
"Not a sound." He didn't even bother to turn his head toward the maid.
Letty stuffed her fist in her mouth.
"You do not care for my nightclothes, sir?"
"Perhaps you have something a little less concealing in your trousseau?"
Sophie shook her head, mesmerized by his presence. The dim light from the single lamp on her dressing table caused his face to move in and out of shadow. "It's warm."
His grin caught at her heartstrings. Tingles danced over her skin. He dropped the sides of her gown and reached for her hand. "I should imagine it is." He lifted the lace-edged knuckle-length sleeve and raised her hand.
The warmth and pressure of his lips against her skin made her heart pound in an erratic tattoo.
"Must you leave tomorrow?"
"Yes, I must. Did your father tell you?"
Sophie shook her head.
Keene pressed his lips together and looked at her maid. "You can leave. I shall take no further advantage of your mistress."
"Miss, please, you'll be on bread and water again."
Keene rolled his eyes.
Knowing her papa, Sophie suspected the decision to leave wasn't entirely Keene's. "I want to hear why you're leaving. Did Papa say you must?"
"They don't tell you much, do they?"
No, they thought quite a bit should be kept from her. Unfortunately, they didn't reckon with her natural curiosity and inquisitiveness. Sophie was sure she knew much more than either of her parents suspected. She knew they thought Keene was a rake of the worst sort, and while her mother had discussed that with her, Sophie knew they would never in a million years discuss things like her marriage portion with her. Would Keene insist on keeping her in the dark, too?
"What disposition was made for me?"
"You will inherit your father's estate. For now, you have a dowry of three thousand pounds, or rather, I shall receive it."
"Thank you."
Keene blinked. "You didn't know that either?"
Sophie shook her head.
"I gave my assurances that your mother shall continue to live here as long as she wishes if your father predeceases her. I thought that is as you would want it. Of course, if you wish to stay here, you may."
Did he mean alone with her parents? After their marriage? She wanted to live in London with Keene. "I should wish to stay in your home."
Keene looked away.
"After we're married, of course."
What he was thinking? Did he wish Letty would go? Sophie wished he would kiss her. She thought she would die if he didn't kiss more than her hand. His thumb rubbed slowly across her knuckles where he held her.
"Your father tells me you do the accounts."
"Well, yes, the household and some of the rents."
"Ah, I see."
"So you have come to wish me good-bye?" She heard the breathiness in her voice.
Keene's attention returned to her, his dark eyes traveling over the voluminous gown, landing on her face and holding her eyes. He lifted a strand of her hair and let the curl wrap around his finger.
She was tired of waiting. "Would you kiss me farewell?"
"No."
Her heart landed at her knees and punched a hole in her stomach on the way down. She felt wobbly and sick. Had her boldness repulsed him? The silence in the room was deafening. And to make it worse, Letty witnessed Sophie's humiliation.
He tugged on her hand, pulling her closer. "I shall not kiss you, but you might kiss me."
A flash of anger threaded through her and entwined with desire, forming into a knotty tangle in her stomach.
He waited, a sensual half smile inviting her liquid response.
She sidled up to him like she had observed a prostitute do to a man in the nearby town of Shrewsbury. She slowly draped her arms over his shoulders, pressing her body against him. His dark eyes lit with an anticipation. She reached up with her mouth, and realized she had no idea what to do next. But then, she was a creature of impulses, and it came to her.
* * *
Keene waited to see if Victor would receive him. His manservant had taken his calling card with a skeptical look. A year ago they would have ignored the formality. Keene rubbed the sore spot on his lower lip and grinned. The little minx had nearly drawn blood when she bit him. One thing was sure, Sophie would never bore him.
"Lord Wedmont will see you."
Keene nodded and followed the valet back to the bedroom at the rear of Victor's rented London rooms.
Victor sat propped in his bed. The bandage over his right shoulder made a large lump under his open shirt. Keene paused at the foot of the bed.
"Well, sit down, man. You can write this damn letter for me as you inflicted the injury that makes my writing illegible.
"I aimed for your thigh."
"I know." Victor leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. His skin looked pasty and grooves bracketed his mouth.
Remorse trickled through Keene. "What do the doctors say?"
"They say I shall have limited use of my arm. God help me if I cannot write. I shall never manage my estate."
Victor's estate was a crumbling old, fortified house on a small patch of land in the north country. His father and grandfather had sold off all the adjoining farms and pasturelands to raise funds, leaving only a forest good for hunting.
Now, Victor had to make regular arrangements for food and livestock to be brought in. Even the toll road his family had once owned was now a regular drain on his pockets because of the frequent trips he made home to straighten out problems.
Keene was glad he'd avoid such a thankless situation, assuming his father did not change his will again.
"Here." Victor handed Keene a piece of paper and pointed to the ink and pen on the side table. Blotchy, smeared chicken scratches covered the top of paper. Victor handed over the book on his lap that doubled as a writing surface. "The worst part of using my left hand is that it drags through the wet ink. Look at this." He raised his blackened left hand. "It'll be a fortnight before these ink stains wear off."
Keene wrote the letter as Victor dictated it. He handed it to Victor, who read it and set it on the table beside his bed. "Good, now, if you mean to take offense at anything I say, you may leave."
Keene leaned forward in his chair and raked his hands through his hair. "I should not have challenged you. I am sorry."
Victor held his silence.
Keene didn't know if his explanation of what happened would help. Either way, he felt he had to account for his behavior. "I went to congratulate or console George on the early arrival of his child. The servants told me he was closeted in the library and no one will disturb him. Amelia was quite distraught. I thought maybe the baby was born too soon and was in trouble, but no. The baby is healthy and full size. I had no thought other then George had been a little before in his duties. I opened the library door and found him with his pistol in his mouth."
Nothing could explain the sheer terror that had iced his spine at that sight. George had put the gun down before Keene could approach him to wrestle it away. Put the gun down and told Keene to go away. Instead, Keene had taken the gun away and held George as he sobbed like a baby over Amelia's betrayal and learned it was with a friend they both considered as a brother.
"She never told me," said Victor.
Keene stared at Victor as another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. "I promised George to punish you. I would have slit my own wrists if I had thought it should stop him from killing himself."
"So you would kill one of us to save him."
"I was not thinking straight. Richard was not in his grave above two weeks."
Victor waved off his explanation. "Have you seen George?"
"This morning. He is drunk."
Victor reached behind him and grabbed the headboard. "So early? It
is barely noon."
"They tell me this is normal. It is better than blowing his brains out, isn't it?"
"How is she?"
"Amelia is despondent. George will not speak to her."
"Not her."
Keene looked at Victor's pinched face and the dark brown locks that normally would be brushed into a disordered study of windswept waves. His hair was simply brushed back, although its natural tendency to curl meant his hair swooped down and brushed over his temples.
"My daughter."
Keene felt a wellspring of despair. Why did everyone persist in making this situation worse? "She's not your daughter; she's George's."
"Is she well?"
"The baby is healthy."
"Do they care for her? Or will she be an outcast in her family?"
"George will do what is right. He will raise her as he should." Keene would see to it.
"But will he love her?"
The question plagued Keene. George was one of the most honorable men he knew. Surely he would come around. "Give him time."
Victor's brown eyes narrowed. "Her lifetime?"
Keene shifted uneasily.
"Perhaps we should join George in his cups so all these confidences seem less painful."
"You do not look healthy enough to indulge."
"These concerns for my health overwhelm me." Sarcasm laced Victor's voice.
None of Keene's apologies and explanations would mend the wound in Victor's shoulder. Remorse sat heavily on Keene. He stood. "I should leave. Your servant, sir."
"Sit down. I have no company. George has disowned me and everyone else is out of town. I am heartily bored with myself."
"Would you care for a game of whist?" offered Keene.
"I should. I see you have announced your engagement in the paper."
"Yes."
"Shall you care to introduce me to your bride?"
"After she is my wife."
Victor grinned. "This is quite sudden. Where did you meet her?"
"I have known her all my life. She is my cousin."
"So when shall you marry her?"
"Three weeks from yesterday."
"So fast? Is there a rush?"
Keene frowned as he dealt the cards he'd retrieved from the cluttered dresser. "No. She is as pure as I found her."
"You disappoint me."
"I promised her father."
"So why the hurry? It's rather fast upon Richard's passing."
Keene shrugged. It was indecently fast considering his brother had only been dead three months.
"Amelia's parents tried to convince George to marry sooner, right after he proposed."
Keene hadn't heard that before. He looked up at Victor.
"Said they wished to have her settled before they traveled to Europe."
Keene vaguely remembered George complaining that his in-laws hadn't taken a trip they had said they would take, but then shortly afterward Amelia's father had passed away and their intention to travel was irrelevant.
"Perhaps if he'd allowed himself to be persuaded sooner or been less honorable in his behavior toward Amelia we should not have this mess on our hands."
Keene closed his eyes. George had wanted to believe the child was his. He'd even commented during Amelia's pregnancy that he thought there might be twins, she was growing so large so soon. George had believed the child was his long after the rest of them grew suspicious. In fact, his complete confidence that the child—or children—was his convinced Keene that Amelia's pregnancy was of George's making.
"And if you should find your bride had need of a timely wedding, what will you do?"
Keene tugged at his lip.
Victor watched with a mixture of wary trepidation and curiosity.
"I should not do anything."
"Would you want to know? Personally, I should prefer to leave the matter in question. I should have liked to think the baby might be George's." Victor shifted and pain lanced down from his torn shoulder. "Go away, man. I need to rest."
"Are you sure?"
Victor wanted to throw something at him. At the same time, his rage toward Keene was sliding away. He wanted to hang on to it, yet he didn't want to throw away the friendship that had bound them since they were children. It was just his luck that a man he considered one of his closest friends would try to kill him over a woman. Or, not just a woman, but a woman whose situation tore at the illusions that held them all sane.
Now there was a baby. His baby, yet not his. Why hadn't Amelia told him?
And as Victor stared at the ceiling in his room he wondered if it would have made any difference to him then. He honestly didn't know.
FIVE
Sophie ran through the frost-tipped grass to the stables. "Where is she?" she demanded of the first groom she saw.
"Which one, miss?"
"The one that is to be mine."
"I don't rightly know. They's in the last two stalls past Thunder and Lightning."
Sophie lifted the skirts of her morning gown as she stepped around the rakings. She should have changed into her riding habit and boots. She would as soon as she got a look at the horse her papa had bought as her marriage gift.
When she learned the news from her mother, she'd been too impatient to wait. Actually, she'd hoped to catch her father before he left on his morning ride, but she didn't see him in the dim light of the stables.
She found the two horses toward the end of the row. Both gleamed in brown glory, but one was older than the other. Sophie moved to the younger of the two horses. Surely this was to be hers. The young mare raised her sleek velvety nose and nudged Sophie, looking for a treat. "I'm sorry, love. I shall bring you an apple next time."
The mare's large brown eyes appeared to accept her as Sophie reached to stroke the nose of the horse.
A commotion at the far end of the stable caused the horse to shy back violently only to start and roll its eyes.
Sophie shushed the horse. "I know, my pretty, it is all strange and new. I bet you need to get out and run free."
The other horse cast a disinterested glance in their direction. The young mare allowed Sophie to stroke her nose and soothe her. One of the grooms swept by her, and the horse shied away again. "What's her name?"
"'Ey tell me her's Salamanca and that one is Daisy."
Daisy, the other new horse, looked like a Daisy, placid and tame. "What kind of a name is Salamanca?"
The boy shrugged. "I guess her's named after the battle."
"It's a silly name for a horse."
"I'm going to have to lead her outside to the paddock so I can muck out her stall."
"I'll take her out for a quick ride. She needs the exercise to gentle her. Go get me a saddle, please."
"I'm not sure you should do that, miss," said the groom skeptically.
"Sure I should. She is to be mine, after all. Poor thing is confused and frightened in a whole new place. She shall be better for being ridden. Besides, she likes me, see."
The horse edged forward, allowing Sophie access to her flank. Sophie rewarded the mare with long soothing strokes. The groom shook his head.
"Go on and fetch me a saddle. I should hate to have to tell Quigsby I had to do it myself." Sophie smiled at the boy, but she knew he would do her bidding when she threatened to report him to the head groom.
He grumbled as he put on the saddle. "If you please, miss, I'll be just a minute to fetch me a 'orse."
"No need. I shall just trot her up the drive and back. We shall be gone no longer than it takes you to sweep her stall. I'm not really dressed for riding."
Sophie led the young mare outside into the yard. The horse shied and twitched, tossing its head.
"Come, love, I bet you haven't been ridden in a week." Sophie led the mare to the mounting block, stroking the sleek brown coat. "You are such a pretty thing." The horse was all smooth muscle and bundled energy. "I do not like the name Salamanca. I shall call you Grace."
Sophie shifted into t
he saddle, and Grace took off without waiting for her rider to settle. Sophie managed to get her foot in the stirrup as the horse ran forward. Grace was not of a mind to follow the drive so Sophie let her have her head as they took off across a field toward the woods. Once Grace burned off some energy, Sophie would steer her onto a bridle path.
Only, directing Grace proved harder than expected. Sophie gave a solid jerk on the reins, trying to wrest control from the headstrong horse. Grace reared.
Sophie pitched forward and held on for dear life. She considered herself too good a horsewoman to be thrown. Grace came back on all fours and careened through the trees.
"Dear God, why are you riding that unbroken horse?"
Sophie whipped her head around to see Mr. Ponsby galloping his horse behind her.
"Hello, to you," she yelled back. "She's just a little nervous with the new surroundings."
"Sophie, I was with your father when he bought her. She is not broken yet. I was coming over to speak with your father about her training."
Sophie tried again to steer the horse toward the path. Between her efforts at redirecting the horse and Ponsby's approach, Grace took exception.
"Stop that horse!" shouted Ponsby.
Grace bucked.
Sophie had the bizarre thought as she tumbled forward that if she had not been braced for Grace to rear, she should not be watching her skirts fly over her head and about to have an intimate meeting with the ground.
She seemed to be in the air an extraordinarily long time. Ponsby cried out her name. Then the ground jarred every part of her from her head down.
Grace gave an hysterical neigh and then there was silence. Images swam before Sophie's eyes, and she shut them rather than allowing the motion to make her sick.
When she opened them again Ponsby was over her, or rather, two Ponsbys leaned over her as if one were not enough. At first she heard his pleas as if he were far away.
"Sophie, please say something. Sophie!"
"I'm all right."
Ponsby moaned.
Sophie wasn't sure the words had come out as she thought them. Ponsby didn't seem too reassured. She raised an arm and put her hand on his shoulder. He pulled her hand between his own and kissed it.
He stroked her hair. "Talk to me, Sophie."
"Everything is fuzzy."
"Oh, dear Lord," muttered the squire. "I need to get you home. You landed on your head."
Why should she move when everything around her was moving? "I should like to lie here a moment, please. I shall be fine in a trice."