“Certainly, Freddy.” Sophia agreed before Mama or Mr. Cavanaugh could offer their opinion. She did not relish making awkward conversation with her betrothed and felt only relief when Freddy wheeled his gelding and galloped away down the lane, his coat tails flapping behind him, his hounds following in hairy disarray.
Mr. Cavanaugh dismounted in a seamless movement. He landed on his feet as lightly as a cat and gathered the reins in a gloved hand. Having approached from Sophia’s side, he fell into step beside her, his mare following docilely behind. Inclining his head civilly to the two older ladies, he threw a grin at the same time towards the two younger girls, bringing blushes to their cheeks and giggling curtsies from the pair of them.
Sophia placed her hand upon the arm he offered and stepped forward with him, pleased he scarcely had to modify his pace to match her own. His forearm was firm beneath her gloved hand. Her skirts brushed his thigh.
Resisting an urge to tuck herself into his side, she set her gaze on the church spire thrusting into a mass of purple clouds beyond a stand of grand trees in the near distance.
“I had thought you to be in London,” she said after a moment, having gathered this piece of information from Cook who had gleaned it from one of the Enderby kitchen maids who happened to be her sister-in-law’s niece.
He guided her around a clump of rough grass with subtle pressure.
“Been and returned this past week,” he said, causing Sophia to look up at him in surprise. “Second trip to the capital since I first came up here.”
Sophia angled her face towards him. “I expect your affairs have required a great deal of attention.”
“In the event, the business has not been as difficult to negotiate as we first supposed because my mother is still alive. She has continued to dispatch notes with almost every vessel between Britan and Cuba and unless anything untoward happens—and I pray it does not—she is adamant she is strong enough to actively participate in an enquiry.”
“Why, that is excellent news!” Sophia was moved by the mix of jubilation and concern in his voice.
He flashed her a smile. “Representatives from both my mother and father’s families along with several agents from the Court should be berthing in Havana any day. While my mother will still have to be interviewed at length, two of her relatives and the son of her family’s old doctor are included in the envoy so her identity should not be difficult to establish. If her health is up to the journey, she may even return to England.”
“And Lord Beaumont?” asked Sophia, curious as to how the earl had taken the news that his wife still lived after all these years of believing her dead.
“He is jubilant! He would have taken ship himself, had his doctors not warned him so strongly against the voyage. But he has decided to remain in London, in case my mother returns with the group of examiners and the rest.”
“You have worked swiftly,” said Sophia, admiring how efficiently proceedings had been set in motion, for she knew that claims such as Mr. Cavanaugh’s could often take years to validate.
He slanted her a wry smile. “Counting the Duke of Northbridge among my allies did me no harm. And I’ve learnt my father has nerves of steel and a determination that will not be deterred once he’s set his mind on an end.”
Qualities echoed in his son, Sophia reflected, for she had experienced a growing sense that Mr. Cavanaugh was fixed on her union with his half-brother and would not be diverted from this mission. His next words confirmed her suspicion.
“I wanted to talk to you about the journey to London. Before you and Freddy are to be married—”
She threw her head up. “But that’s weeks away!”
“It will come around quickly enough and because we will be travelling in convoy, I need to think ahead. I’m realizing,” he said, his smile disarming, “that I only had the fuzziest notion of what was entailed in this new life I have inherited. I still have my own interests to maintain and I’m finding myself so engaged with Enderby there’s little time for anything else. As my father’s health has declined in recent years it appears the whole of his affairs have been neglected. All the buildings are in a sad state of disrepair and in some places the land is almost exhausted.”
“You have made an excellent choice in Jared Haskell. He is a skilled craftsman and a very hard worker.”
“He tells me you raid the kitchen at Foxwood and bring food to the cottagers.”
“Not as often as I’d like,” returned Sophia, wishing their store room was not so depleted.
“And Squire Mossman let me know that part of your fee for painting his heifer was a ham and two consignments of butter and eggs for Mr. and Mrs. Talbot.”
“It’s just to tide them over. Mr. Talbot has been unable to work since he broke his arm and they have two small children to care for.”
He leaned towards her and said conspiratorially, “You are right, though.” The teasing note in his voice made her look up at him with a query in her eyes.
“She’s very beautiful.”
“Mrs Talbot?”
He laughed. “No! The heifer.”
Sophia felt a moment of pure joy as her laughter joined his. Perhaps it was their shared amusement along with a sudden and intense feeling of kinship that emboldened her, for the words peeled off her tongue before she had time to think them through.
“Will Mrs. Cavanaugh travel to London in our convoy?”
His frame stiffened and she immediately regretted her remark for her query sounded arch and inquisitive.
As she spoke they stepped out of the sunshine and into a viridescent tunnel where leafing trees rose either side of the narrow way and made a natural arch over the lane ahead. After the sunshine of the open path, the shade felt cool across her shoulders.
“Marie Cavanaugh—my sister-in-law—was compelled to return to London very shortly after her arrival,” he said in a detached tone she had not heard from him before.
Although her curiosity was sharply aroused, Sophia did not speak, for any words she sought sounded vulgar and intrusive.
They walked a few more yards before he spoke again, his voice still remote. “I am not married. Lady Cranston understandably misunderstood the situation on the day Marie arrived. I had assumed her grace—or local hearsay—would have brought you up to date.”
“The weather was so foul for those first few days. Then Vanessa’s baby son fell ill with a fever which soon affected many others at Northbridge so we have not had the opportunity to speak for some time.” Sophia knew the brief notes Vanessa had sent in the interim neglected to include news of Mr. Cavanaugh, lest her words be read and interpreted by those avid for gossip without regard for accuracy or the privacy of either sender or subject.
She chose not to reveal her own curiosity, nor to comment on the various and colorful scenarios local rumormongers had come up with. Nor did she admit, even to herself, how the intelligence of his unmarried status caused her heart to give a hopeful leap.
His next words curbed her optimism.
“We were speaking of your marriage,” he said coolly, turning the conversation away from any further discussion relating to himself.
At this point Lady Cranston, who had fallen behind with Mrs. Hilliard stepped up beside them. Sophia could not tell whether her mother had heard Mr. Cavanaugh’s disclosure or not. Her expression gave nothing away, but that was not unusual for her Mama, whose general demeanour tended to be imperious.
“I could not help overhear your conversation,” she said. “I am looking forward immensely to a London Season but I must warn you, we shall be taking a great deal of baggage, for we have Annabelle’s coming-out to consider as well.”
“Ladies need a lot of luggage,” Mr. Cavanaugh assented, sending her one of his charming smiles. Sophia was amused to see how even her haughty Mama’s features softened in response. “We’ll leave at first light,” he added.
“First light!” exclaimed Lady Cranston, sending him a startled glance.
“Spring rains have been
torrential, Ma’am. Whole sections of the highway have been scoured and it’s not likely they’ll be repaired by the time we leave. It’d be foolhardy not to allow for delays in case of accidents or one of the horses falling lame. It makes sense to arrive at our coaching-inn well before dark.”
Sophia had risen early these past weeks, dressing swiftly and hurrying down to her atelier, keen to begin the day’s work. Although she had not asked, one of the maids and once or twice Mallard himself, had brought her coffee and a roll or perhaps a thick slice of fruit cake.
Sometimes she carried on working, swallowing the coffee and cramming the edibles, grateful for the sustenance but not even registering the taste. Other days as the morning freshened, she sat outside on the terrace. Warming her fingers around the cup, breathing in the fragrance of hot coffee, enjoying the serenity of early morning along with her renewed sense of purpose filled her with pleasure.
She turned her face up to Mr. Cavanaugh and smiled. “I adore rising at daybreak.”
* * *
Bruno pulled in a breath. Without effort an image of Sophia Cranston at daybreak came into his mind; her hair a dark cloud on a lace-edged pillow, her eyes hazy with sleep, the smell of jasmine and almonds that was uniquely hers drifting from the hollow in her throat.
A downward glance showed him the swell of her breasts beneath the light scarf she wore against her sun-colored gown. His cock stirred and swelled. Jesus! This woman! All it needed was a glimpse of her breasts and the drift of her scent to turn him into a lovesick greenhorn.
From the first moment he’d seen her face, it was as if something had hollowed out inside him and some essence of herself had dipped into that space, spread all through him and now inhabited parts of him he hadn’t even known existed.
But as soon as she had spoken her name, he’d imposed a prohibition on himself, and if he had any thought of breaching it, Marie’s unexpected arrival had offered a bitter reminder. After their venemous reunion, he’d stormed upstairs to the apartment set aside for him at Enderby, the muscles in his neck and shoulders cramping with the rigid control he’d exerted during their toxic interview.
The very sight of Garrett’s widow had consumed him with rage. He feared if he allowed the command he held over himself to slip for even a second, he would simply put his hands around her throat and squeeze that long white neck until she was dead. Her tears and entreaties had no effect, and he’d ordered her immediate return to London. He’d reimbursed her travel costs, dispatched an authorization to Hoare’s Bank in Fleet Street so she would have funds to draw upon, but made sure she knew he did not wish to see her face again.
The role he’d played in Garrett’s death haunted him. Sometimes his self-reproach was like a physical entity, burning in his throat like bile. The dreadful aftermath of his entanglement with Marie delineated the wisdom of distancing himself from Sophia Cranston, no matter how potent her attraction. The mere thought of losing another brother because of a woman devastated him.
But that night, despite all his efforts, he hadn’t been able to get Sophia out of his mind. It seemed as if to counteract the clash with Marie something inside him burned for release. Images of Sophia that were almost physical in their intensity wouldn’t disappear no matter how hard he tried to eradicate them: the haphazard curls around her face, her smile, her musical voice and unstudied sensuality.
And it was not only her physical attributes that captivated him. He admired her loyalty and plucky defense of Freddy and her passion for the art he recognized as being unique, requiring a level of commitment far beyond the usual obligation of a young lady of her class. The visions of her were so tangible; he smelled her scent, felt the brush of her hair against his skin, imagined the curve of her mouth against his own. Thoughts of her transmuted themselves into an intensely physical response that had set his blood pounding.
In exasperation he’d strode downstairs, made his way to the stables, thrown himself bareback onto a wild-eyed gelding the color of wood smoke and ridden as he had when he was a boy, flying at a crazy pace across the moonlit countryside. With the reckless abandon of youth he’d raced down lanes alternately black and silver, exerting all his mastery to control the spirited beast beneath him.
“We’re not so different with our night terrors,” he murmured, running his hand along the animal’s arching neck as the nervy creature leapt aside at yet another real or imagined menace lurking in the deeply shaded undergrowth.
Eventually he’d found himself on a hillside overlooking Foxwood. Moonlight bathed the fields, but the house lay in darkness except for a light burning in one of the upstairs windows. Intuitively he knew he was looking towards Sophia’s bedchamber.
As if he’d conjured her up, her figure came to the window, hazy behind the mullioned glass. Then she’d leaned forward and thrown the casement open. He couldn’t make out her features, but he could discern the pale oval of her face and the cloud of dark hair against her white nightgown.
Like a lovelorn youth bursting with adolescent lust he’d spied upon her until she reached out, pulled the windows closed and disappeared from his sight. Not from his fantasies though. He’d wheeled his mount and galloped back to Enderby, reveling in the rhythm of the horse beneath him. The wind dried the sweat on his heated skin where his shirt lay open across his breast.
In the stables he’d brushed the horse down with a vigor needed as much by him as the trembling animal. Remorseful at his hard use of the spirited creature he made long sweeps of the brush, working until his muscles ached.
He left the gelding blanketed and calmed but with his own balls still rammed against the fork of his cramping thighs. His cock thrust painfully against his buckskins.
Dismissing the sleepy footman who waited inside the entrance he took the stairs two at a time. He pushed open the door to his bedchamber and threw himself onto the bed only to rise seconds later to douse himself with cold water from the jug on the night stand. But the demand for release only intensified.
And so, like some horny youth, half-amused at his rampant need, he’d relieved himself with ruthless efficiency. Breathing hard, boots braced against the cold stone floor, it seemed as if his whole being gathered up and raced towards the tip of his cock, surging up and up until he spurted into his hand.
Self-control was a quality he admired in others and always expected of himself. But better a hard-on and a pull in private he thought grimly as he wiped himself off with a rough towel, than surrendering to his lust for his brother’s fiancée.
Now, walking beside her her with her hand on his sleeve and her skirts brushing his calves, he kept his sexual response tightly reined. As they began to descend the shallow incline that led to the village, she unsettled him by querying: “May I ask if you have any other siblings besides Freddy, Mr. Cavanaugh?”
It was as if she’d read his mind. A cold hand gripped his heart.
“Only Freddy,” he said shortly, and to counteract any other inquiry he asked more abruptly than intended; “I understand your sister has been unwell.”
“Annabelle has been in Switzerland, undergoing a cure for her health. She came home towards the middle of March.” Her fingers tightened on his sleeve.
A peal of laughter sounded behind them and Bruno said, amused: “Switzerland must have been good for her. She sounds very lively.”
Sophia turned to look at the girls for a moment, then directed a surprised look towards him, as if her sister’s liveliness was something quite novel.
Her mouth curved into a reflective smile. “She does sound happy. It is a long time since I have heard her laugh so merrily.”
“Perhaps you cosset her too much,” he suggested carefully, remembering how Vanessa had intimated that Annabelle was not as frail as she liked to make out. He had made himself aware of the precise details of the Cranston’s straitened circumstances and did not like to think of the pressure Sophia was already under, without the added strain of taking care of her sister, particularly if this attention was un
necessary.
“You’ll soon be my sister,” he said roughly. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I want you to know I will always be here for you.” A drift of her perfume crept into his nostrils. “As a brother,” he added more for his sake than her own.
“Annabelle’s ill health is because of me,” he heard her say in a low voice as if she hadn’t heard his previous remark. “She may seem well at the moment, but chances are she will be exhausted by the time of our return.” She looked up at him and his heart twisted at the distress written across her face. She took her lower lip between her teeth. “She has the consumption and it is entirely my fault.”
He would liked to have taken her into his arms and kissed away the shadows in her eyes. But that avenue was not open to him and so he offered his practical opinion.
“How can it be your fault that your sister has consumption? It’s not a catching disease.”
They had reached Little Chippington’s cobbled high street and the sky had turned silver. “It happened when we were children. I made her go outside into the woods and we were caught up in a storm. Annabelle almost died.”
“Why did you make her go outside?”
“I wanted her to see the gypsy camp. It was only later I realized that what enthralled me, meant nothing to Annabelle and so I risked her good health for no reason except to satisfy my own interest.”
“But you were only a child. You could not know!” he protested, coming to a halt and turning towards her.
She gave him a troubled smile. “Believe me, I have looked for excuses all these last years. But at bottom, no-one but I am to blame. My sister’s health was undermined because of my selfishness.”
“That is true, you know,” trilled Annabelle, stepping up beside them.
Bruno tried not to scowl at her. She was certainly much slighter than her older sister, but she did not look very ill to him. In fact, he saw little sign of frailty. Her skin was a healthy color, her eyes were not feverish; she held herself pertly and the curls bouncing beneath her bonnet were guinea-gold and shining. If she were a filly he would think her well worth recommending.
The Beaumont Betrothal: Northbridge Bride Series Book 2 Page 10