Who was she trying to convince? He was not Arnaud. However, the sooner she could end the infernal husband hunt, the sooner she could claim her inheritance and get on with her life. And…not have to look into the face of the man she loved every day, following her around like an unhappy guard dog, knowing they could never be together, and suspecting he felt the same way.
At Lydia’s pestering she’d started work on a romance to submit to the Minerva Press. She’d also sent her collection of Venetian poems to her father’s old publisher. Maybe, by some miracle, she wouldn’t have to choose.
All the while deep in thought, Sophie had been guiding the mare around the stable yard, whispering soothing words the way she’d heard Sir Thomas calm his mounts.
“Well done, Sophie.” Sir Thomas rode his favorite gelding, Lundy, and joined her. Arnaud fussed a few minutes with tightening the girth and then swung easily into the saddle.
“For a Navy man, you ride very well, Captain Bellingham.” Sir Thomas pulled next to Sophie and waited for him to follow.
A brief frown clouded Arnaud’s face. “I spent a lot of time at my grandfather’s estate growing up, and he made sure I could ride as well as any of my cousins when we were young. However, his bullying of my mother was a bad idea. She cannot be bullied, as you well know.” Both men chuckled. “When she resisted his interference, he wrote me off as a grandson, which is fine with me.”
“Ah, yes. Whittingdon. He would be a pompous stickler. But hasn’t one of your cousins been calling on Sophie?”
She cringed at the abrupt change in the direction of Sir Thomas’s questions and was certain Arnaud seethed beneath his bland smile. He could hide his expression, but not the fire in his eyes. She knew this man well. But why deny his feelings and then resent another man who expressed interest in her?
At the last minute, Sophie interceded to forestall another one of Arnaud’s black moods. “He’s called several times, but I think he’s more interested in Cook’s ginger biscuits.” Arnaud remained silent.
Sir Thomas gave her a wry look and nudged his horse into a trot. She and Arnaud fell in behind.
An early morning wind whipped at her carefully braided hair beneath an elaborate veiled riding hat in dark wine velvet matching her habit. Conversation was impossible, which was fine with her. She’d tied a firm bow beneath her chin that morning but the poor thing’s grip on her head was a strain in the heavy breeze. She was relieved to concentrate on keeping the stupid bit of velvet and netting from blowing away while handling both the reins and the light whip. Of course she’d practically nailed the hat in place with her trusty hatpins. Her companions looked equally happy not to have to indulge in conversation.
The bridle path narrowed through the densely wooded park, forcing them to ride single file. The bright sun outside the park darkened under the canopy of thick leaves. She felt a bit chilled, but her habit had been too hot in the sun moments before. She was comfortable with the easy gait Sir Thomas set and began to feel like riding out was not the bad idea she’d suspected earlier.
A sudden jarring thud to her side nearly threw her off balance. Another rider coming from behind had just slammed into her. Her horse adjusted nimbly after the impact and returned to her gait as if nothing had happened. Sophie thanked the goddesses she hadn’t toppled off onto the ground or under Rosslyn’s thrashing hooves. Arnaud and Sir Thomas immediately circled back and put her between them while they both dismounted, drew pistols, and swept glances through the trees around the path, looking for any further danger.
“Captain, you stay here with Miss Brancelli while I run down that villain who had the gall to attack this poor woman while she’s under my protection, at my very home.” He lunged back onto his horse and took off through the trees, ignoring Arnaud’s shouts.
“He should have let me follow that foul swab.” Arnaud paced in anger, swinging his pistol at the surrounding underbrush, as if that would produce the culprit.
Sophie slid from her seat on poor Rosslyn and clenched her fists. “What if there are more men behind that one? What if Sir Thomas had stayed, you left us, and we came under attack?” Sophie still shook from the near collision.
Arnaud ceased pacing and stared down into Sophie’s wide eyes. “You’re not afraid?”
“Why would I be afraid? Someone wants to harm me, possibly ruin me, and destroy my search for this proper ‘gentleman’ of the ton I have to acquire before I can claim my inheritance. Why should I worry?”
He noticed too late the slight quivering of her lower lip, the imperceptible shaking of her shoulders. She still clung to her usual fire and defiance, but he could tell the effort weighed on her.
In that moment he knew. His world tilted like a ship flying full canvas in a big blow. He secured the two horses in the midst of a meadow of grass and took off his jacket. He He wrapped her in it before tucking her into his arms. When he pulled her down beside him on the stump of a felled tree, she turned to fit in his lap.
Sophie snuggled into place, as he’d known she would. He could feel the steady beat of her heart, the rise and fall of her breathing. “That’s it. Now take in some deep breaths. I’m here. I won’t leave you, and no one will ever harm you again as long as I live.”
She twisted around and placed her fingers over his lips. “Don’t say that. I can’t ask you to abandon the men in your squadron. I know how much they mean to you.”
Then she frowned, and a tiny wrinkle appeared in the center of her forehead, the same wrinkle he’d grown accustomed to seeing every time she bent to serious concentration. Like when she labored over a scrap of paper, creating her latest hard-wrought couplet of poetry. No other woman had ever done anything to make him want her as much as that tiny wrinkle made him want Sophie. Made him want to touch her, hold her. She’d become a part of his soul that the distance across far seas couldn’t erase.
“You’ve become the only person who matters. What good is honor if I cannot protect the woman I love?”
The smile his declaration elicited from Sophie made the release of all he’d denied himself worth whatever it would cost him later.
He covered her lips with his. His tongue brushed the soft swell of her lower lip before he nibbled his way to the pink curve of her ear. She gave a small sigh. When her mouth parted, he came back to her lips and deepened the kiss until she turned in his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck where she clung like a ship-wrecked sailor. Her head nestled just below his collarbone as if she’d been made to fit there.
When her breasts pressed into his chest, he jerked out of the embrace and stood as if burned by hot cannon metal.
Sir Thomas leaned far forward in the saddle, urging Lundy onward. “Only a few more lengths,” he whispered. He pulled closer to the masked horseman who had brushed up against Sophie earlier and followed him through a tight turn off the road into a dense, wooded close.
They blasted into a small clearing in the midst of the close, and Thomas used his whip to push the other man to the ground. He followed, rolling over and over in the clearing, until both men burst into laughter.
“Rummy, you devil. There for a minute I thought you were going to lead us on a real chase and give me the slip.”
“Never, Tommy, never.” Viscount Rumsford crawled over to his friend and laid the palm of his hand against Sir Thomas’s cheek. They stood and secured both horses in the clearing before slipping into the deep woods.
“Do you think either of them suspects?” Rumsford slapped the dust from his hat before following Sir Thomas to a hidden lean-to next to a massive chestnut tree.
“I think not. Those two are too much in love to notice much of anything. They see what they expect to see.”
“I always suspected Royal Navy chaps were a bit dense. Men in the regiment know when they want a woman and don’t let the winds of society push them away. Young Bellingham doesn’t even know he’s in love with Miss Brancelli.”
“I know, but I’ve been considering an alternative if he doesn’t soo
n come up to scratch.” Sir Thomas moved a door of strands of ivy leaves woven through a frame of branches and then pulled it in behind them. “You’ll have to give me your considered opinion.”
Sophie’s endless worries about the man she would have to marry, or how she would support herself if she could not land a proper “gentleman,” all of those niggling problems faded. Those worries were as insignificant as sparrows in a field compared to what she’d done to Arnaud. All the yearning she’d tried to hide, all of her secrets had been destroyed by a few stolen touches and kisses.
Now they stood apart, the cold air a sharp contrast to the burning of her lips that had been sealed to his just moments before.
Even as she’d given over to his insistent caresses, a small voice in her mind had refused to be stilled. If he hadn’t pulled away from her, she would have been the cause of a good man abandoning all he believed in.
“Arnaud, I’m so sorry…”
He caught her hands in his and kissed her fingertips. “Please, no regrets. I love you, Sophia Brancelli, but you deserve better than the only life I can offer. I apologize for losing control. I promise it will not happen again. I’ve had to watch you being courted by other men for so long, I’m afraid I finally could take no more.”
“I understand the Royal Navy is your life, but other naval officers marry and have families. Why not you?”
“I promise you I will talk to Lord Howick. We will decide what’s best for you. My ship is still being refitted at the yard in Portsmouth. There’s plenty of time for you to make a more suitable match. I will abide by Howick’s judgment.”
Sophie’s chest tightened. She felt as though he’d shoved a sharp knife beneath her ribs and twisted the blade. Arnaud’s words made no sense. How could he turn away love, the one thing that made life worth living? And he and Lord Howick were going to decide what was best for her? Jupiter.
Even Arnaud had ceased to understand why he wanted to push Sophie away. Of course, the memory of how hard it had been to grow up without a father after his own had disappeared at sea might have something to do with his resolve.
He hated to admit what he knew he had to do next. His mother had suffered as much if not more than he had. She’d spent years trying to find out what had happened to her husband and his father, Captain John Bellingham. She would know. And he hoped she could set aside her yearning for a grandchild long enough to help him make sense of the mess he now found himself in.
At the first sight of Sir Thomas’s cream-stoned manor peeking through the end of the long tree-lined lane, dread stuck in Sophie’s throat like a dry biscuit she couldn’t swallow. Returning to the house party looking like a thoroughly kissed woman would be embarrassing, but they had no choice. Everyone would know. She could feel a tell-tale blush rising already from the heat of her cheeks. Arnaud, riding next to her, looked as though he was about to face a firing squad.
Two grooms stood in the stable yard waiting to take over their mounts. They brought steps and helped Sophie down while Arnaud dismounted. Sophie and Arnaud walked back to the house in an easy, mutual silence. Lady Howick stood in the doorway, smiling and watching their progress.
“Did you enjoy your morning ride?”
Sophie was torn. Should she alarm the older woman about another near thing, or not?
Arnaud solved the dilemma. “We had a bit of trouble in the park, but Sophie is fine. I need to talk with Lord Howick and Sir Thomas as soon as possible. Do you know where they might be?”
“Howick is in the library, but I thought Sir Thomas rode out with the two of you.”
“He’s not returned?” Arnaud frowned and turned abruptly back toward the stables.
“Why, whatever did I say to send your young man off running?”
Sophie laid a gentle hand on Lady Howick’s arm. “He’s very excitable and protective. I suspect he’s off to check on Sir Thomas. And, please, you know he’s not ‘my’ young man.”
Lady Howick merely smiled and squeezed Sophie’s hand. “Lady Fitzroy is waiting in the family sitting room and is anxious to talk to you.”
Sophie blanched. A sudden chill overtook her and spread to the very tips of her fingers. “Of course.” She followed Lady Howick down the hallway toward what felt like a pending execution.
Once they were inside the sitting room, Lady Fitzroy sat at a small corner table with the teapot service and a plate of pastel-colored biscuits. Sophie had yet to enter the out-of-the-way, cozy room and was surprised at the bright yellow sofa covers and flower-embroidered pillows scattered against the back. The contrast with the formal rooms used for entertaining was stark. One of Sir Thomas’s spaniels lounging on a floor cushion beamed Sophie a look of adoration from her expressive brown eyes.
“Out of here, Maisey,” Lady Fitzroy snapped. The dog lifted her head, and then lowered her snout back down onto her paws. Sir Thomas’s mother gave up and gave the dog a dismissive wave before tossing her a bit of a biscuit. “She’s just like my son-totally loving and devoted, but never pays a bit of attention to what I say.”
“Please sit down.” When Sophie hesitated, she added, “Both of you.” The last command was given in a tone that brooked no argument.
The formidable dowager countess of Fitzroy regarded Sophie from across the top of her quizzing glass with a piercing stare. Although the curls piled high on her head were soft silver, the blue of her eyes was still as intense, Sophie was sure, as at the time of her own coming out many years before.
After pouring tea for the three of them, the older woman came directly to the point. “Of all the gentlemen in London for the Season, what makes you think my son can be brought up to scratch?”
Sophie maintained steady eye contact with the woman, smiled warmly, and weighed her words carefully. She knew instinctively denying what the dowager countess had said would be folly.
“Your son has been very kind to explain the intricacies of London society and to introduce me to many of his friends.”
“But, my dear. You did not answer my question. What do you see in my son?”
“A man who cares deeply for his friends and family.”
“Poppycock! Why are you attracted to my son?”
“The truth?” Sophie smoothed her skirts and re-settled the un-pinned side of the heavy, embroidered hem of her riding dress to cover her boots. “He loves to laugh. He has an brilliant mind but no qualms about sharing his thoughts with a woman.”
The countess sniffed and gave her handkerchief an impatient wave. “What does he have that you want?”
“His library.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Sophie realized at once how cold her answer must have sounded and snapped her mouth shut.
The older woman broke out in laughter. She stopped once, only to begin chortling again. Finally, she wiped the tears trickling down her cheeks and turned her direct stare back at Sophie.
“Ah, an intelligent woman. I might have known. Thomas has never been able to resist an intelligent woman. But you are so young, and from such an unsuitable background.” She shook her head and looked to Lady Howick for support.
Sophie’s gut quaked in silence, but she would rather faint and fall face-first onto the ancient Turkish carpet than show fear or shame in front of Sir Thomas’s mother.
Lady Howick’s light tinkle of a laugh broke the awkward moment. “Maddie, you of all people should know blood will out. Our Sophie is the granddaughter of a duke. Can you not see the icy fire in her eyes? She refuses to take censure to heart. She knows her worth.”
Chapter Twenty
Arnaud rolled over and punched his pillow, hard. He’d left early from Mrs. Withers’s monologues in the garden to try to get some sleep before his morning guard duty for Sophie on her ride with Sir Thomas. If he survived this night, he could do anything. Slaver ships bristling with deck cannons were nothing compared to the constant muffled whispers and noises of guests creeping through the hallways of Clifford Park, making feeble attempts at being discreet. He’d never had muc
h time for entertainments of the ton, and certainly never house parties like this one. Gad.
A light tap sounded at his door. He froze. For one dizzying moment, he hoped, illogically, the object of his guard duty, the luscious Sophie, would be outside. Another series of taps sounded, more insistent. Must be one of his men. He wrapped a banyan around him, padded to the door and swung it open. Frannie stood on the other side, smiling expectantly, in a gown that did not leave a man much to wonder about.
“Why are you here?” Arnaud’s blunt question did not seem to be what she’d expected.
“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” After her first stunned reaction to his question, her voice resumed its usual purr. “I know you want me, so I’m here.”
“I’m on duty. I cannot indulge in any, er, personal adventures.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“Well, there is the last three weeks you’ve made yourself unavailable whenever I called. I assumed…”
“Darling, never assume anything about me.” When she made a move as if to duck past his arm braced against the door frame, he pushed her firmly back outside.
“Why don’t we say good-night and remain friends? Good-night, Frannie.” With that he shut the door and pulled a chair from the corner to wedge beneath the knob. He stood for a moment listening to her hurried footsteps fade down the hallway. After a deep sigh, he climbed back into bed, put his hands behind his head, and stared at the elaborate ceiling medallions. Never had a man so longed for his hammock and a silent, rocking sea beneath the deck.
He slipped into a deep sleep full of dreams. In one, he was at sea, and his men were fishing off the stern. When they pulled in their net, instead of fish, there was a pale body encased in a sea-soaked, wine-colored wrap. They rolled over the body on the deck, and it was a mermaid, complete with a scaled tail and Sophie’s face. He woke immediately and sat straight up in bed. Someone was jiggering with the door knob, trying to disengage it from the wedged chair.
Pride Of Honor: Men of the Squadron Series, Book 1 Page 18