Harlequin Historical May 2020--Box Set 1 of 2

by Sophia James

  ‘Come on, lad. We’ll stop in at my cousin’s house before heading to the next village. If she came this way, no doubt he will have seen her.’

  Fell watched as they turned their mounts’ heads for the lane, suddenly wanting nothing more than for them to disappear back the way they had come. Far from answering the questions that swirled around Marie, those hunting her had just raised more and Fell knew he wouldn’t now be able to rest until he learned the truth from her own lips.

  Just before they rode out of sight the man with the scar turned in the saddle and called back at Fell over his shoulder, his voice so cold it sent a curious shiver down Fell’s back despite the glaring sun.

  ‘If you do happen upon her, just remember this: Lady Thruxton of Fenwick Manor will pay handsomely for the girl’s return—whatever state she’s in. She only has one daughter, after all. Good day to you.’

  * * *

  ‘Drink this.’

  Fell pushed a glass of gin across the kitchen table towards where the woman sat staring down at her lap. When she reached to take the drink he saw how her hand shook, sending ripples across the surface as she lifted it slowly to her lips. She grimaced at the first tentative swallow and set it down again, still avoiding his gaze with her face turned slightly away.

  ‘So. Not Marie Crewe, after all?’

  There was a slight pause before she shook her head, drooping autumnal curls gleaming in the light spilling through the kitchen’s small window. She didn’t volunteer anything further and they sat together in silence, Lash’s sigh of contentment as he stretched out on the floor the only sound in the stillness of the room.

  ‘Would you like to tell me who those men were?’

  Another shake of the head was the only reply.

  ‘But it was you they were looking for?’

  Still nothing.

  Fell sat back in his chair, fingers finding the stubble on his chin and rubbing lightly. It was like getting blood from a stone, the mysteries of the woman sitting opposite no closer to being revealed.

  ‘Are you with child?’

  That question received an immediate response. Not-Marie’s head came up at once, eyes wide with horror once again, although this time of a very different kind.

  ‘Absolutely not!’

  Fell lifted one shoulder, relieved she’d found her tongue at last. He had begun to fear the scarred man had been right and Marie—or Miss Thruxton, apparently—wasn’t too quick off the mark. ‘No need to take on. I’d be the last person to judge you if you were. It just seemed the most obvious reason for a young woman to flee from a good home without even telling her ma where she was going.’

  She looked at him unhappily, suddenly reminding him of an animal caught in a snare, and with a flicker of surprise he felt the urge to hold out a comforting hand to her, to enfold her in his strong arms again and reassure her that he wouldn’t cause her harm. Instead he swallowed the urge and washed it down with a mouthful of gin, nodding at Not-Marie to follow his example.

  ‘Drink up. I think you should tell me your story now and I’ll have the truth this time, if it’s all the same to you.’

  * * *

  The taste of gin lingered unpleasantly, but Sophia had more important things to concern her as she wondered hopelessly how to begin. Her hands still trembled and her legs felt weak with pain and distress, her heart leaping as with each breath she tried to order her thoughts. Phillips’s face swam before her each time she so much as blinked, a nightmare she had hoped would never be made flesh. Only the fact his attention had been fixed momentarily on the stable lad beside him had spared her from his notice, giving her time to flee. Seeing him riding towards the forge had been one of the most frightening moments of her life and now Fell wanted her to somehow put her horror into words.

  Giving anybody an insight into the wretched existence she’d left behind would shame her to the ground. Admitting even her own mother couldn’t manage to like, let alone love, her was a horrible prospect, made worse by it being Fell to whom she’d have to lay bare the truth. Some ridiculous part of her had grown too fond of him, she would admit, and now shied away from letting him know how much she was reviled by those who knew her best. But he had done her a great kindness in shielding her from Phillips and for that she owed him an explanation, even if it showed her failings as both a daughter and a human being.

  She took a breath, debating whether to draw another sip from her glass to steady her ragged nerves.

  ‘I suppose there’s little point in concealing it any longer. My name is Sophia Somerlock, of Fenwick Manor near Salisbury.’

  Fell shot her a narrow look, although his tawny face was alight with curiosity that lent appealing animation to his features. ‘I know of the place. Very grand it is, too. But your name—is it not Thruxton?’

  ‘No. Mother insisted I take my stepfather’s name after they married, but I will be a Somerlock in my heart until the day I die.’

  Her glass had found its way back to her hand by some mysterious force and she took another drop, wincing at the acrid taste. She’d never tried something so vulgar as gin before, but she couldn’t argue with its power to loosen the tongue.

  ‘I left the manor after my mother decided I was to marry my stepfather’s nephew, the heir to the Thruxton family fortune. I wasn’t informed until all the arrangements were put in place and my feelings about the match were not consulted.’

  ‘Aha.’ Fell nodded thoughtfully. ‘He wouldn’t have been your choice?’

  ‘I think he wouldn’t be any woman’s choice if they were acquainted with his true character.’ The image of poor Jayne Thruxton, Septimus’s doomed first wife, flitted through Sophia’s mind to make her shiver. She still didn’t know for certain what had happened behind the closed doors of their marriage and prayed now with every fibre of her being she would never find out first hand.

  ‘But why run? Why not just refuse?’

  ‘That wouldn’t have been an option. If I’d gone against Mother’s wishes…’ Sophia tailed off for a moment. How could she begin to explain the force of nature that was Mother? She held all who knew her in her thrall, charming those she deemed worthy into acting as she wished while terrifying others less fortunate. Her conduct towards her own daughter was in a league all its own, nobody else seeing the particular streak of cruelty reserved solely for her only child—and nobody else as deserving of it. ‘There is no going against her. Fleeing was the only thing I could do if I wanted to avoid being forced into marriage.’

  ‘Why would she seek to force you into a marriage you so clearly didn’t want?’

  Because she hated me first for daring to be born, then more for what I did to Papa, and seeks to give me the punishment I earned.

  Sophia swallowed.

  I think that would be a revelation too far.

  It was a fair question, yet even in the depths of her unhappiness she couldn’t bring herself to answer with the whole truth. It would shame her to dust and then she would never be able to meet Fell’s eye again.

  ‘I am an expensive disappointment with more failings than I can count. As a result I cannot blame her for finding it hard to love me—there’s so little there to prompt affection. If she’d chosen a less offensive match I would have accepted to please her, but Septimus was a step too far even for me.’

  ‘Did she tell you that you were a disappointing failure? Your own mother?’

  At Sophia’s nod Fell’s handsome features twisted, although she hardly noticed. To her dismay she felt the sting of hot tears creep up behind her eyes and she blinked rapidly to hide them. The stomach-churning horror of being so nearly discovered merged with hopelessness to raise a lump in her throat no dry swallow could dislodge, despair and confusion so bitter she could have choked on it. The prospect of a life spent looking over her shoulder was so bleak it made her want to allow the tears to fall—but there was no o
ther path and with only a moment of hesitation Sophia took her glass and drained it without tasting a single drop.

  Fell watched her force the drink down without judgement, chin resting on one battered fist. ‘You could marry. You could take some other man as your husband; surely then you’d be safe.’

  ‘I could not.’ Sophia shook her head, her voice hoarse from the burning mouthful of gin, but still quavering with determinedly suppressed emotion.

  He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know me well enough to see what a laughable suggestion that is.

  Only somebody unaware of Sophia’s true worth could say such a thing, a person flatteringly—but entirely wrongly—assuming a man could ever want her for herself. Her face was passable and her figure even pleasing, Mother had once been so generous as to sniff, but her character, talents and learning were so lacking no man would surely dream of asking her to marry him without the prospect of her family fortune sweetening the deal—a blunt fact Sophia had never thought to question. It was a prospect so unlikely she might have smiled, had her face not been a glazed mask of misery, pretty enough but concealing the wickedness Mother had insisted lay behind.

  ‘With no fortune or family, who would take me? Why would any man choose to bind himself to someone so utterly lacking in all manner of things that make a good wife? If I waited for a man to offer his hand, I’d be waiting the rest of my life.’

  She looked down at her lap where her cold fingers twisted together so tightly it hurt her, almost missing the look that skipped across Fell’s face like a pebble skimming atop a lake. It was unreadable and nothing she could name, although his eyes on her raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck in a wave of sensation she couldn’t ignore.

  He sat back in his chair, both hands clasped behind his dark head and strange gaze shifting to roam the ceiling as he apparently lost himself in thought. In silence Sophia waited for him to speak, the time crawling by as desperate unhappiness swelled inside her chest until her ribs felt as though they might crack beneath the strain. Now she had laid her situation bare for Fell to see it seemed more real, even more hopeless, and Sophia could see no way out.

  She was startled by Fell’s unexpected movement. Suddenly, as though needing to act before he changed his mind, he sat smartly forward again and tossed his own drink back in one smooth gulp, setting the glass back on the table with a decisive clink.

  ‘As far as I’m concerned nothing’s changed. You can stay until you’re fit enough to travel, if you wish, although I know my cottage is a good deal too poor for a lady. But I won’t give you up.’

  He rose swiftly to his feet, brushing his hands together as though the matter was settled and Sophia wasn’t blinking up at him in naked surprise he could hardly have missed. ‘I need to return to the forge and sitting here talking won’t make many shoes.’

  It was such a rapid veer from still contemplation to brisk activity Sophia couldn’t quite catch up, confusion lurching inside her even as Fell strode towards the door. She stared after him for a moment before surging upwards herself, limping across before he disappeared into the sunlight.

  ‘Wait, please—wait a moment. Don’t you want to discuss this a little more? When you offered me sanctuary it was when you thought I was someone else entirely…’ Sophia turned her eyes to the ground, shame washing over her. She’d lied to him, taken him for a fool, and she could scarcely blame him if he wanted her out from under his roof. ‘I wasn’t honest with you and for that I am sincerely sorry. I would understand if you’d rather I left.’

  Fell turned on the threshold, one hand still resting on the door. Outlined by sunshine he seemed bigger than ever, solid and immovable—and so suddenly safe it took any further words from Sophia’s mouth. He had protected her, even when he had no cause to, showing more concern for her welfare than even her own flesh and blood.

  He was silhouetted against the sun and she couldn’t make out his expression—perhaps that was what gave her the courage to ask the question that burned on her tongue.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell them?’ Her voice was quiet, almost afraid what his answer would be. ‘Why didn’t you turn me over for the reward?’

  A taut pause bridged the gap between them, Sophia waiting with shallow breath and Fell filling the doorway with his powerful frame. When he finally murmured a reply it was almost too low for Sophia to catch—although the hand that reached out to touch her bare arm in silent assurance spoke louder than any words, the brush of his fingers against her skin lighting a sudden furnace in her gut.

  ‘One look at your face told me you were afraid. I’ll not be the reason a woman is compelled to do anything she doesn’t wish to.’

  His touch was as light and as fleeting as a butterfly on a blossom, the merest whisper of contact born out of concern, yet Sophia felt her entire body spring to life as though a streak of lightning had struck to ignite her very core. Every nerve thrilled to feel the warmth of his fingers dancing the length of her arm, each hair stirring in the wake of his gentle hand’s feather-like touch. It was like nothing Sophia had experienced before, stranger and more wonderful than anything she could remember, and the joy of it turned her mind to warm toffee.

  Nobody had touched her with anything close to affection in above sixteen years, not since Papa had stroked her flushed cheek on the day he died. He had been the last to look at her with the rough compassion she now saw in Fell’s face as he stared down at her, turned slightly so the sunlight illuminated the craggy lines of his nose and jaw, and the notion spun unending circles of confusion. All she could do was watch as Fell cleared his throat with self-conscious brusqueness and turned to step outside, muttering over his shoulder as he went.

  ‘I’ve work to do now if you’ll leave me in peace. Those shoes won’t make themselves.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sophia sat with her knees drawn up to her chin as she stared into the empty darkness of Fell’s bedchamber, the blankets beneath her still neat and undisturbed. She hadn’t even attempted to sleep, the idea of rest impossible while Phillips’s sneer haunted her and the sensation of Fell’s hand on her skin still tingled in every nerve. If Mother could see her hunched into such an unladylike pose she would be excessively displeased—but she didn’t even know where Sophia was, thanks to Fell’s intervention, and again Sophia felt relief so sweet she could almost taste it on her tongue.

  But today bought only a short respite. I still need to decide what to do when the time comes for me to leave this cottage and surely that cannot be too far away.

  Fell’s misguided suggestion swam back through her thoughts, executing another lap around her head. It was a ridiculous notion born out of his complete—and merciful—misunderstanding of what kind of woman she was, but that didn’t stop it from returning time and again to niggle away with a voice she couldn’t quite dismiss.

  He truly seemed to think my marrying somebody else was a viable option. Perhaps I should take his error as a compliment.

  What kind of man would agree to take her with no money, no good name and no tangible benefit from the match? Septimus would have gained all three: the Somerlock fortune would become his with its heiress as his bride, bringing with her the continuation of the Thruxton name. He would have had heirs from her, too, another generation to mould in his own image and the passing of his spirit down the ages, never to be forgotten even if his cruelty ought to have been buried by the sands of time.

  What would those children have been like? Sophia wondered with a sudden chill seeping beneath her borrowed nightgown. Would they have taken after their father, the boys handsome and the girls beauties, but both concealing malice beneath their perfect façades? Perhaps Mother’s essence would have prevailed, a child born cold and angry and never satisfied with its lot, or by some miracle a glimmer of Papa’s gruff kindness might shine through, some small consolation for her while bound to Septimus for the rest of her life.

  W
ould they have had your eyes, Papa, or perhaps our red hair?

  The idea almost made her smile for a moment before the usual suffocating guilt descended to coil about her neck. She was the reason Papa would never see his grandchildren, her yearning for it the height of hypocrisy. If she hadn’t done what she did, she might not be in this position now, a lady depending on a blacksmith for help…

  Sophia lurched upright so quickly she felt her neck jar, but she paid it no heed as she sat wide-eyed in the quiet of the night, frozen with the sudden flash of inspiration that illuminated every corner of her mind like sunlight through a window. It was as though she’d lit the fuse on a stick of dynamite and swallowed it, the following explosion so powerful Sophia could scarcely breathe.

  Fell wants children, a family to call his own—might he consider me to provide him with one, in exchange for saving me from a fate like a living death?

  She brought a hand up to feel where her heart danced, leaping wildly as if spurring her on as the idea unfurled itself before her. Hadn’t he told her himself, only a few days previously, how he longed for the little ones he feared he would never have? The sorrow in his deep voice had been so clear to her then despite his attempts to hide it, the memory sparking a vivid combination of compassion and hope to writhe in her stomach. He had been so sure a wife would never come to him, so determined his future included nothing but his lonely forge… Was it possible he would listen to a scheme from which both he and Sophia could profit, albeit in very different ways?

  She had so little else to offer but the prospect of an heir, Sophia thought as she licked at dry lips; a legitimate son or daughter to fill Fell’s cottage with the light and laughter of a child. With no money her fertility was the only bargaining chip she had left, the only thing she might trade for her freedom from Septimus’s malignant grip. Fell might even grow to tolerate her in time, after she had placed a couple of warm bundles in his arms, and that was surely the best a woman like Sophia could hope for. He would never love her, of course, but nor would anybody else, and it was surely a less risky gamble to place one’s bet on a man capable of basic decency if nothing more.