“And why is that?” Sophie asked the question while staring straight ahead, fearing to turn and lean toward him.
He placed his hand beneath her jaw and tilted her face his way. “I am the best driver in all of England.”
“How, how do you know?”
“No one has ever disputed the fact, so we will suppose it is true.” With that, he burst into hearty laughter and nodded to his groom to free his precious horses. As soon as the boy climbed onto the rear step, Sir Thomas gave a light flick to the reins and the curricle sprinted off at a fast trot. They flew around the square, the water basin at the center a sparkling blur in the sun.
Sophie let out the breath she’d been holding, relaxed a little, and smiled. Sir Thomas was a man who enjoyed life and made the most of every moment. She admired his confidence and appreciated the many kindnesses he’d shown her since the Howick ball the week before. Once she got over her fear of the height of the seat, she began to enjoy the way he handled his horses with an even, light touch, threading his way easily through the traffic-clogged streets on the way to Hanover Square to visit Arnaud’s mother.
When Sir Thomas had called the day before, she’d confided in him how much she missed the little dog she’d saved in Hyde Park. He’d insisted he would escort her to call on Mrs. Bellingham, who it turned out, was one of his good friends. He was a supporter of her benefit concerts for the orphans of merchant sailors lost at sea as well as naval casualties of the Napoleonic Wars.
She smiled at the thought of Arnaud with Lieutenant Bourne in a carriage behind them, following along to his own mother’s house. Captain Neville had been assigned escort duty with Lydia and her maid Jane on an extended shopping expedition. The stormy looks Neville had exchanged with Arnaud earlier would have been comical if the threat to their safety had not been so terrifying. Although everyone agreed Sophie seemed to be the main target of the kidnapping attempts, Lydia’s likeness as well had been on the sketch the young sweeps had been given by the mysterious man who seemed to be orchestrating the plot against Sophie.
When they finally rounded Hanover Square, Sophie bounced on her seat in delight. A fluffy white dog had leaped from the arms of Mrs. Bellingham’s footman and now raced back and forth in a flurry on the walk in front of her townhouse. He seemed to have developed much better manners since she’d rescued him in Hyde Park. He sat down hard at a word from the footman and watched anxiously as the Bellingham groom took control of Sir Thomas’s team. The dog’s nemesis, the household cat, was nowhere to be seen.
Arnaud’s mother descended the steps to welcome Sophie when Sir Thomas handed her down from the curricle. She embraced Sophie and kissed both her cheeks before apologizing with, “I am sorry, but I am French, and feel as though you are a dear friend now. We have been through so much together, preparing for your first ball and then enduring my too-serious son’s frowning guard duty.” She ended on a peal of laughter and was joined by Sir Thomas.
At that moment, the Howick carriage pulled behind the curricle, and Arnaud and Lieutenant Bourne emerged.
“Where is Dr. MacCloud?” A quick frown passed across Mrs. Bellingham’s face. “Cook made his favorite ginger cookies especially.”
“His father invited him to a lecture at The Royal Academy. Although how any wisdom manages to work its way into his thick, Scottish skull is beyond me.” Arno smiled at his mother, and a twinge of wistfulness assailed Sophie.
Lancelot rushed all sadness out of her mind with a leap into her arms not anticipated by his footman-keeper. She snuggled him close until he licked her cheek and tilted her elaborate bonnet with a flail of his paw. Sir Thomas removed him from Sophie’s arms with a gentle tug and handed him over to the footman. He stepped back to her side and with slow tenderness, re-settled the hat.
Sophie’s cheeks flamed, and out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a dark frown on Arnaud’s face.
Arnaud spied the exchange between Sophie and Sir Thomas after her encounter with the impossible small dog. He quelled the image that leapt unbidden to his mind’s eye. The one where he pummeled Sir Thomas to the ground for daring to touch even the edge of her ridiculous, over-trimmed bonnet.
The man was an engaging, reasonable, respected member of the ton. He obviously cared for Sophie and had sufficient standing and power to protect her. That being said, why then did Arnaud continue to engage in the particular fantasy of reducing his handsome features to a bloody pulp? More to the point, how could Arnaud and his men continue to be effective in their guard duties considering his objectivity concerning Sophie had fled? Though the truth galled him, Arnaud was a pragmatist.
His feelings for Sophie Brancelli were no longer platonic. He would never subject her to a life of marriage to a seafaring man, but neither could he continue to deny she was unbearably dear to him.
Once his mother had shepherded Sophie and her naughty dog through the door, Sir Thomas walked to Arnaud’s side and leaned close. “Did you notice any suspicious persons or conveyances on the way here?”
The sudden shift in Arnaud’s awareness made him slow to answer. “Nothing outstanding,” he finally said, “but with what’s happened so far, we can’t be too careful. Lord Howick is still firm in his wish for us to continue guard duty.”
“And you, Captain Bellingham? What are your wishes? I’m sure an officer on leave from the Royal Navy has a myriad of details to claim his attention. Wouldn’t you prefer to get on with your life?”
Arnaud struggled to bank the fire of anger burning and clawing at his gut. “What my men and I choose to do with our leave is entirely within our private purview. We will of course remain on duty as long as the young women under Lord Howick’s protection require guards.”
Sir Thomas leaned closer. “I’ve heard you’ve yet to enlist your full complement of crew.” He paused for a moment and then added, as if in afterthought, “I’ve also heard Frannie, beg pardon, Viscountess Frances Fairfield, is back in town.”
Arnaud stiffened and clenched a fist. “With all due respect, Sir Thomas, my private life is none of your concern. I would be obliged if you do not choose to sail into those waters again.”
The other man drew back, eyebrows raised. “Do you dare to threaten me?”
Arnaud made a slight bow. “No, Sir Thomas. I never tender warnings before blowing an enemy ship out of the water.”
The tall barrister did not reply, but simply gave Arnaud a knowing smile and wink before turning toward the townhouse.
Lieutenant Bourne shouldered next to Arnaud and pointed toward the door flanked by his mother’s footmen through which Sir Thomas had just disappeared. “Captain, how can we let that bloke call the pipe and drums? That poor lass’s life is still in our hands. We have no idea who wishes her harm.” After urging a still-seething Arnaud toward the door, he added, “Keep your eye on the line, Captain. Don’t lose sight of your course and why we’re here.”
Sophie bent down to Lancelot’s plump-pillowed bed in Mrs. Bellingham’s drawing room and smoothed the fuzzy fur on the small dog’s back. The small yips of pleasure coming from her pet made her smile.
When she straightened from petting her dog, she viewed a puzzling sight. The divergent expressions on the faces of Sir Thomas, Arnaud, and Lieutenant Bourne gave her pause. When the barrister came forward to greet Mrs. Bellingham, both of them exchanged slight, knowing smiles. Arnaud, however, looked as though he’d sighted a ship overflowing with Barbary pirates. Lieutenant Bourne’s usually cheerful countenance had turned into what she imagined he’d put forward while his troops were being inspected.
Although everyone in their party was undoubtedly fully sober, Sophie felt a duty to broach and smooth the conversational waters, much as she had done when her father’s soirees had spun drunkenly out of control.
“Sir Thomas — I want to thank you for making my first ride in a curricle as painless as possible.”
The barrister’s lips quirked in a crooked smile and he took a seat near Sophie. “Thank heavens. Pain
is not usually the feeling I aspire to invoke in my riding companions. More importantly, what did you think of my beauties? I had them brought especially by my head groom from Clifford Park.”
Sophie blushed furiously. “You are too kind, Sir Thomas. Your mares are beautiful and high-spirited, but very well-behaved. I enjoyed stealing away to the stables at Wolford when I was a child, but my grandmother never encouraged me to ride. And after she died…”
Sophie turned away from Sir Thomas’s kind, solicitous regard and realized she’d cast a pall over everyone. “Forgive me, Mrs. Bellingham. You, your son, his officer, and Sir Thomas gave up your morning plans so that I could spend time with my naughty little dog, who, it turns out is not gray, but snowy white.” Lancelot gave out a series of excited yips but quieted when she returned to smoothing his furry back.
“Nonsense. Lancelot has already perked up since you arrived. He’s been sulking a lot lately. I think he missed you. And, please, call me Honore. ‘Mrs. Bellingham’ seems so formal.” She drew closer to Sophie and sat on a floor cushion near the dog. He extended a paw toward her arm and she shook it. “See, he’s learning new tricks every day from Charles. I’ll wager he would walk in the park in the square with you without getting into trouble. Charles walks him every day without incident.”
“Really? You think I could?” Sophie extended her hand, and Lancelot repeated his shaking paw trick for her.
“If you’re going to play with the dog, perhaps Bourne and I should check the alley behind the mews,” Arnaud said.
“Why don’t you send Lieutenant Bourne?” his mother suggested. “You could accompany Sophie through the park with her dog.”
Arnaud shot his mother a sharp look, but she ignored him.
“That’s a splendid idea,” Sir Thomas said. “Honore and I have to finalize plans for the benefit concert next month for her orphans fund. I will see Miss Brancelli back to Howick House when you return.”
Arnaud kept his eyes focused on the terrain around them, with intense perusal of passing carriages. Individual walkers made him bristle and move closer to Sophie until they passed.
Sophie stopped him with a gloved hand on his arm. “Please cease this constant suspicion. Can’t we enjoy the day for once without suspecting everyone we pass of evil intent?”
Arnaud held his breath. If she didn’t stop touching his arm, he would not be responsible for what he might do.
“Miss Brancelli,” he began.
Oh, no you don’t. I’m Sophie now. Remember the pact we made? You can’t keep saving my life and still call me ‘Miss’ anything. I’m just Sophie.”
“All right, ‘just Sophie.’ If you don’t care what others might construe from my use of familiarity with your name, then neither do I.”
Just then, he stumbled and muttered an oath when Lancelot raced beneath his feet in search of the perfect tree trunk. “God’s teeth! How much longer must we endure a walk with your meandering mongrel?”
Sophie looked down and uttered a sudden “bad dog” when Lancelot strained at his leash, barking and threatening a squirrel who stared down and taunted him from a nearby tree. Within seconds, he’d lost interest and moved on to sniff a nearby bush before lifting a hind leg.
She laughed and gazed up at Arnaud. “I suppose he’s had enough of a walk, since it looks as though he might injure himself if he finds any more trees or pieces of sculpture on which to answer the call of nature.”
“You do realize my mother and Lady Howick would be beside themselves if they knew the depths to which our conversation has plummeted.”
“Do you realize how upset your mother would be if she knew how much you dislike her friend, Sir Thomas? You’ve been abominably rude to him today.”
“I have not.” Arnaud took a few steps away from Sophie and stared at a carriage passing through the square, avoiding her gaze.
“Of course you have. Why is that? What has he done to deserve your condemnation?”
“He’s been a little too forward in his dealings with you, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Did he really need to take an intimate advantage and lean so near to adjust your hat?”
Sophie let loose with a nervous peal of laughter. “Captain Bellingham, I think you’re jealous.”
“Why should I be jealous? Did I deliberately seek to find a young woman in distress outside the milliner’s shop that day? Did I seek to neglect my responsibilities to my ship and crew just to follow two spoiled young friends through the diversions of the Season? In order to be jealous, one has to have a personal interest in the supposed object of affection. No, Miss Brancelli, you are mistaken. My only mistress is the sea.” He continued staring after the carriage throughout his callous speech before finally turning back to Sophie.
The look on her face and the unshed tears in her eyes made him wish he were back at sea, or anywhere but Hanover Square at that moment. His heart felt as if a sword had shoved through his ribs. “I spoke only the truth that you of all people should understand. Please do not take my words as a personal affront. They’re not meant as such.”
When the stricken look finally left her face, she spoke. “Not only do you not want me, but you think me unfit for anyone else who might care for me. You, sir, are an unfeeling monster. I will speak to Lord Howick. Either I will end this nonsensical search for a husband or perhaps borrow against my inheritance to hire my own guard. I no longer wish to spend any time near your person.” She stooped to gather Lancelot in her arms and then strode toward his mother’s townhouse without a backward glance.
Arnaud could not say how long he stood and stared after Sophie’s retreating figure. Her efforts to maintain a straight posture and stride away were hampered by her pup’s constant wriggling and fighting against her restraint. He loved her even more in her undignified attempts to control the naughty dog. The witless organ in his chest kept beating, but he died a little inside.
He hadn’t had the heart to explain to her in detail how he and each of his fellow officers had drawn up personal wills before joining the African Squadron. Life expectancy was cruelly short on that treacherous duty. If the slavers didn’t cut you down, fever would. Not a promising alliance for a beautiful, vibrant young woman like Sophie.
Lieutenant Bourne, who had been patrolling outside the townhouse, passed her on his way across the park to join him. When he’d stopped to talk, she’d waved him away with a wild gesture.
“Now what have you said to the lass?” When Bourne reached his side, he gave him a dark scowl.
Arnaud sighed. “I just don’t understand women.’
“No, you don’t, you scurvy bastard.”
Chapter Sixteen
On the ride back to Howick House in Sir Thomas’s curricle, Sophie was considerably less terrified than during the first one. This time, she didn’t care. She didn’t care if she fell off the high seat. She didn’t care if she hit the pavement and rolled under the wheels of another carriage. She’d never felt so lost and empty to the bottom of her soul.
Sir Thomas abruptly pulled up on the reins and guided them over to a small pocket park along Little Brook Street. His tiger jumped down and took charge of the horses.
“Why so sad, Sophie?” His gloved finger moved beneath her jaw and coaxed her face toward his. “Mmmm, and angry. Very angry. Does this have anything to do with the storm cloud excuse for a naval officer sitting across the street glaring at us?”
Sophie whipped her head away from Sir Thomas toward Lord Howick’s carriage where Arnaud sat.
“Both of you are angry. In my experience, the only emotion that can elicit such anger is usually love.”
“You are mistaken, sir. I am merely angry. When one lets down one’s defenses and declares one’s feelings to an unfeeling oaf, one should expect to get what one deserves.” She rubbed hard at an eyelid beneath her faux cherry-laden bonnet. “I beg your pardon. A piece of dirt must have blown into my eye.”
“I see… Would you like som
e assistance to get it out?”
“No.” Sophie’s sharp reply echoed along the street like a shot. Arnaud half-opened his carriage door and made as if to join them. Sir Thomas threw him a dark look and waved him away.
Sophie gave a deep sniff and pleaded with Sir Thomas. “Please. Please take me home.”
After a quick nod to his tiger to scramble back aboard, Sir Thomas guided the horses onward toward Howick House.
Sophie’s spirits lifted once she was safely back home. Lydia met her at the front door with an ecstatic hug and a stream of excited pronouncements about her guard for the day, Captain Neville.
“He was such a dear.” Her friend gushed in praise. “He never complained, just stood quietly by the door wherever I went. We ran into the Jarvis sisters at the milliner’s on Bond Street, and they were over the moon with envy when I explained his presence.”
“I daresay you filled them in on what horrific dangers we’ve been facing and how he and his shipmates have performed all sorts of acts of derring-do.” Sophie straightened her elaborate bonnet before changing her mind and removing two lethal-looking hatpins holding the tippy concoction in place. The poor thing sank into a sad heap on a marble table in the entryway.
“Ooh,” Lydia cooed “What happened? Who hurt your feelings? You never whine the way I do. Here I’ve been going on and on about my wonderful day when yours…well, yours must have been something less than that.” Lydia gathered her into her arms and held her for a minute before leading her toward the stairway leading to the family sitting room.
Pride Of Honor: Men of the Squadron Series, Book 1 Page 14