by Amanda Quick
“Do not forget the cheese and bread, Sophy,” Waycott admonished.
“Yes, of course.” Sophy reached into the basket and removed a loaf of coarse bread. Then she spotted the small container of sugar. Her trembling fingers brushed the glittering emeralds as she picked up the sugar. “There is no knife for the bread, my lord.”
“I am not so foolish as to put a blade in your hands, Sophy. Tear the bread apart.”
She bent her head and did as he had instructed. Then she carefully arranged the fragments of bread and chunks of strong cheese on a plate. When she was finished she poured the tea into two cups. “All is ready, Lord Waycott. Do you wish to eat by the fire?”
“Bring the food over here. I would have you serve me the way you do your husband. Pretend we are in the drawing room of Ravenwood Abbey. Show me what a gracious hostess you can be.”
Calling on every ounce of composure she possessed, Sophy carried the food across the room and placed the cup in his hand. “I fear I may have added a bit too much sugar to the tea. I hope it is not too sweet for your taste.”
“I like my tea quite sweet.” He watched her with anticipation as she put the food in front of him. “Sit down and join me, my dear. You will need your strength later. I have plans for us.”
Sophy sat down slowly on the pallet, trying to keep as much distance as possible between herself and Waycott. “Tell me, Lord Waycott, are you not afraid of what Ravenwood will do when he discovers you have abused me?”
“He will do nothing. No man in his right mind would cross Ravenwood at cards or cheat him in business but everyone knows Ravenwood will never again bestir himself to risk his neck over a woman. He has made it clear he no longer thinks enough of any woman to take a bullet for her.” Waycott bit off a chunk of cheese and a swallow of tea. He grimaced. “The tea is a bit strong.”
Sophy closed her eyes for a moment. “I always make it that way for Ravenwood.”
“Do you? Well, in that case, I will have it the same way.”
“Why do you doubt that my husband would challenge you? He fought a duel over Elizabeth, did he not?”
“Two of them. Or so legend would have it. But he engaged in those appointments during the first months of his marriage when he still believed Elizabeth loved him. After the second dawn meeting he must have realized he could neither control my sweet Elizabeth’s spirit nor terrorize every man in the country so he abandoned all efforts to avenge his honor where a woman is involved.”
“And that is why you do not fear him. You know he will not challenge you because of me?”
Waycott took another swallow of tea, his eyes focused intently on the fire. “Why would he challenge me over the issue of your honor when he did not bother to do so over Elizabeth’s?”
Sophy sensed a thread of uncertainty in Waycott’s voice. He was trying to convince himself as well as her that he had nothing to fear from Julian. “An interesting question, my lord,” she said softly. “Why would he bother, indeed?”
“You are not half so beautiful as Elizabeth.”
“We have already agreed upon that.” Sophy watched, her stomach knotted with tension as Waycott took another sip of tea. He drank mechanically, his mind on the past.
“Nor do you have her style or charm.”
“Quite true.”
“He could not possibly want you as badly as he wanted Elizabeth. No, he will not bother to call me out over you.” Waycott smiled slowly above the rim of his cup. “But he may very well murder you the way he murdered her. Yes, I think that is exactly what he will do when he finds out what has occurred here today.”
Sophy kept silent as Waycott took the last swallow of tea. Her own cup was still full. She held it cradled in her palms and waited.
“The tea was excellent, my dear. Now I should like some of the bread and cheese. You will serve it to me.”
“Yes, my lord.” Sophy got to her feet.
“But first,” Waycott drawled slowly, “you will undress and put the Ravenwood emeralds around your throat. That was the way Elizabeth always did it.”
Sophy went very still, searching his eyes for some signs of the herb’s effect. “I do not intend to undress for you, Lord Waycott.”
“But you will.” From out of nowhere Waycott produced a palm-size pocket pistol. “You will do exactly as I say.” He smiled his too brilliant smile. “And you will do it exactly as Elizabeth did it. I will guide you every step of the way. I will show you precisely how to spread your thighs for me, madam.”
“You are as mad as she was,” Sophy whispered. She took a step back toward the fire. When Waycott did nothing, she took another and another.
He allowed her to retreat nearly the length of the room and then with casual brutality he yanked on the rope that bound her ankle.
Sophy gasped as she tumbled awkwardly to the hard stone floor. She lay there for a moment, trying to steady herself and then she looked fearfully at Waycott. He was still smiling but there was a dazed quality in his eyes now.
“You must do as I say Sophy, or I will be obliged to hurt you.”
She sat up cautiously. “As you hurt Elizabeth that night by the pond? Ravenwood did not kill her, did he? You killed her. Will you murder me as you did your beautiful, faithless Elizabeth?”
“What are you talking about? I did nothing to her. Ravenwood killed her. I told you that.”
“No, my lord. You have tried to convince yourself all these years that Ravenwood was responsible for her death because you do not wish to admit you were the one who killed the woman you loved. But you did. You followed her the night she went to visit Old Bess. You waited by the pond for her to return. When you realized where she had gone and what she had done, you were angry with her. Angrier than you had ever been.”
Waycott staggered to his feet, his handsome face contorted with violence. “She went to the old witch to ask for a potion to get rid of the babe, just as you did today.”
“And the babe was yours, was it not?”
“Yes, it was mine. And she taunted me, saying she no more wanted my child than she had wanted Ravenwood’s.” Waycott took two unsteady steps toward Sophy. The pocket pistol waved erratically in his hand. “But she had always claimed she loved me. How could she wish to get rid of my babe if she loved me?”
“Elizabeth was incapable of loving anyone. She married Ravenwood to secure a good position and all the money she needed.” Sophy edged away from him on her hands and knees. She dared not rise to her feet for fear Waycott would pull the rope again. “She kept you dangling on her puppet strings because you amused her. Nothing more.”
“That’s not true, damn you. I was the best lover she’d ever taken to her bed. She told me so.” Waycott lurched to one side and stopped. He dropped the rope and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his free hand. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing’s wrong, my lord.”
“Something is wrong. I don’t feel right.” His hand dropped from his eyes and he tried to focus on her. “What did you do to me, you bitch?”
“Nothing, my lord.”
“You poisoned me. You put something in my tea, didn’t you? I’ll kill you for this.”
He lunged at Sophy who leapt to her feet and stumbled blindly out of his path. Waycott fetched up against the stone wall near the hearth. The pistol fell, unnoticed from his hand and landed with a small clinking sound in the basket that had held the food.
Waycott turned his head to locate Sophy, his eyes wild with fury and the inevitable effects of the drug.
“I’ll kill you. Just as I killed Elizabeth. You deserve to die, just as she did. Oh, God, Elizabeth.” He leaned against the stone wall, shaking his head in a vain effort to clear it. “Elizabeth, how could you do this to me? You loved me.” Waycott began to slide slowly down the wall, sobbing. “You always said you loved me.”
Sophy watched with horrified fascination as Waycott cried himself into a deep slumber.
“Murderer,” she breathed, her pulse lea
ping with rage. “You killed my sister. As surely as if you had put a gun to her head, you killed her.”
Her eyes flew to the basket on the hearth. She knew how to use a pistol and Waycott deserved to die. With an anguished sob she ran to the basket and looked down. The pistol lay atop the glittering emeralds. Sophy leaned over and scooped up the small weapon.
Holding it in both hands she whirled about to point the pistol at the unconscious Waycott.
“You deserve to die,” she repeated aloud and released the pistol from its half-cocked position. The trigger, which was designed to fit into a small recess for safety’s sake, dropped into firing position and Sophy’s finger closed hungrily around it.
She stepped closer to Waycott, her mind summoning up the image of Amelia lying on her bed, an empty bottle of laudanum on the table beside her.
“I will kill you, Waycott. This is simple justice.”
For an endless moment Sophy hovered on the brink, willing herself to pull the trigger. But it was no good. She could not find the courage to do it. With a wrenching cry of despair she lowered the pistol, returning it to the half-cocked position. “Dear God, why am I so weak?”
She put the pistol back into the basket and knelt to fumble with the rope around her ankle. Her fingers shook but she managed to free herself. She could not take the emeralds or the pistol back to Ravenwood. There would be no way to explain them.
Without a backward glance she opened the door and ran out into the night. Waycott’s horse nickered softly as she approached.
“Easy, my friend. I have no time to put a saddle on you,” Sophy whispered as she fitted the bridle onto the gelding. “We must hurry. Everyone will be frantic at the Abbey.”
She led the gelding over to a pile of rubble that had once been a fortified wall. Standing on the heap of stones, she adjusted her skirts above her knees and scrambled up onto the horse’s back. The animal snorted and danced and then accepted her unfamiliar presence.
“Do not worry, friend, I know the route to the Abbey.” Sophy urged the horse into a walk and then into a gentle canter.
As she rode, she tried to think. She had to have an explanation ready for the worried staff who would be waiting for her. She remembered the sound of her mare’s hoofbeats disappearing into the distance when Waycott had kidnapped her. Her horse had apparently run off and would undoubtedly have gone straight home.
A riderless horse returning to Ravenwood Abbey would mean only one thing to the stable lads. They would assume Sophy had been thrown and, perhaps, injured. Search parties would have been combing the woods around the Abbey all afternoon and evening.
It was as good a story as any, Sophy decided as she guided Waycott’s horse around the pond. She certainly could not tell anyone she had been kidnapped and held captive by the Viscount Waycott.
She dared not even tell Julian the full story for she knew that Waycott had been wrong when he claimed the Earl would not engage in another duel over a woman. Julian would call Waycott out if he discovered what the Viscount had done.
Damn. I should have killed Waycott myself when I had the chance. Now there is no telling what lies ahead. And I shall be forced to lie to Julian.
She was so dreadfully inept at lying, Sophy thought fearfully. But at least she would have time to prepare her tale and learn it by heart. Julian was still safely away in London.
It was not until she saw the lights of the Abbey through the trees that Sophy realized she would have to abandon Waycott’s gelding. If she was going to claim she had struggled home on foot after a riding accident she could not show up on a strange horse.
Dear heaven, there was a lot to be considered once one started conjuring tales. One thing led to another.
Reluctantly, because she still had a long walk ahead of her, Sophy slid to the ground and turned the gelding loose. A slap on the rump sent it cantering off down the path.
Sophy picked up the hem of her riding habit and started walking quickly toward Ravenwood Abbey. Every step of the way she cudgeled her brain, trying to put a believable story together for the waiting servants. She must have every bit of the tale in place or she would surely trip herself up.
But as she stepped out of the woods that surrounded the great house, Sophy realized she had a much bigger task ahead of her than she had anticipated.
Light spilled from the open doors of the front hall. Footmen and stable lads scurried about readying torches and in the moonlight Sophy saw that several saddled horses were being led from the stables.
A familiar dark-haired figure in riding boots and stained breeches stood halfway up the left staircase. Julian was issuing orders in a cold, clear voice to those around him. It was obvious he had just arrived which meant he had left London before dawn.
Sophy knew real panic in that moment. She had been finding it difficult enough to organize a story for the servants who would be bound to believe anything she told them. But she was very much afraid she was in no condition to lie convincingly to her husband.
And Julian had always claimed he would be able to tell if she tried to deceive him.
She had no choice but to make the attempt, Sophy told herself bracingly as she started forward again. She could not allow Julian to risk his life in a duel over her honor.
“There she be, my lord.”
“Aye, thank the good God, ’tis safe she is.”
“My lord, my lord, look, over there at the edge of the woods. It be my lady and she’s safe.”
The loud cries of heartfelt relief brought everyone around to the front of the house as Sophy walked out of the woods. She wondered with a sort of wretched amusement how much of the relief her staff felt was occasioned by the fact that they had been forced to explain her absence to Julian.
The Earl of Ravenwood swung his gaze instantly toward the trees and saw Sophy in the moonlight. Without a word he loped down the stone staircase and crossed the cobbled yard to catch her roughly in his arms.
“Sophy. By God, you have nearly killed me with worry. Where the devil have you been? Are you all right? Are you hurt? I could thrash you for terrifying me so. What happened to you?”
Even as she reminded herself of the ordeal that lay ahead of her, a tumultuous sense of relief poured through Sophy. Julian was here and she was safe. Nothing else mattered just then. Instinctively she huddled into his strong embrace, leaning her head against his shoulder. Her arms tightened convulsively around his waist. He smelled of sweat and she knew he had driven himself as hard as he must have driven Angel.
“I was so afraid, Julian.”
“Not nearly so afraid as I was when I arrived a few minutes ago to be told your horse had returned late this afternoon without you. The servants have been searching for you all evening. I was preparing to send them out again. Where have you been?”
“It … it was all my own fault, Julian. I was on my way home from Old Bess’s cottage. My poor mare was startled by something in the trees and I was not paying attention. She must have tossed me off. I hit my head and quite lost my senses for some time. I do not remember much until a short time ago.” Dear God, she was rambling. Talking much too fast. She had to get hold of herself.
“Does your head still pain you?” Julian thrust his fingers gently into her tousled curls, feeling for a wound or bump. “Were there any other injuries?”
Sophy realized she had lost her riding hat somewhere along the way. “Uh, no, no, Julian, I am fine. That is to say, I have a headache but nothing to worry about. And … and the babe is fine,” she added quickly, thinking that would take his attention off her nonexistent injuries.
“Ah, yes. The babe. I am glad to hear all is well in that regard. You will not ride again during your pregnancy, Sophy.” Julian stepped back, his eyes searching her face in the moonlight. “You are quite certain you are all right?”
Sophy was too relieved that he appeared to believe her to worry just then about arguing for her right to ride again. She tried a reassuring smile and was horrified when she fel
t her lips quiver. She blinked quickly. “I am really quite all right, my lord. But what are you doing here? I thought you would be in London for a few more days. We had no word you would be returning this soon.”
Julian studied her for a long moment and then he took her hand in his and led her back toward the anxious crowd of servants. “I had a change of plans. Come along, Sophy. I will turn you over to your maid who will see to your bath and get you something to eat. When you are yourself again, we will talk.”
“About what, my lord?”
“Why, about what really happened to you today, Sophy.”
NINETEEN
“We were all so worried, my lady. Scared to death somethin’ had happened to you. You have no idea. The stable lads were beside themselves. When your mare comes runnin’ back into the yard, they started lookin’ for you right off but they couldn’t find no sign. Somebody went to see Old Bess and she was as worried as the rest of us when she found out you hadn’t come home.”
“I am sorry to have caused so much concern, Mary.” Sophy was only half-listening to her maid’s description of what had happened after she had failed to return that afternoon. Her mind was on the forthcoming interview with Julian. He had not believed her. She ought to have known he would guess immediately that she was lying about having been thrown by the mare. What was she going to tell him now, Sophy wondered frantically.
“And then the head groom, who is always one for predictin’ the crack o’ doom, shakes his head and says we should start draggin’ the pond for your body. Lord, I about collapsed, I did, when I heard that. But all the fuss weren’t nothin’ compared with what happened when his lordship arrived unexpected like. Even staff who’d been here at the Abbey during the time the first Countess was here said they hadn’t ever seen his lordship in such a fury. Threatened to dismiss us one and all, he did.”