“In a good way?”
He blinked and she saw a ghost of a smile pass across his face, which he quickly masked. “Different,” was all he allowed.
Briskly he walked back to the door, where he turned slightly. “I must travel out of town today. Mrs. Betrus will see to your needs. Do not hesitate to ask for anything.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll have my man Puckett find out what happened to your governess and servant, too, and fetch them here as well.”
“Thank you. I pray they both survived the fire.” Sophie paused, thinking of her cruel mistress and her governess. What had they gone through last night? Were they alive? Had they been injured and were lying in hospital? Had they perished in the flames? Though the women had treated her unkindly, she would never have wished such an end for them. Yet she had to smile sadly at the irony of her own thoughts, for she suspected that neither Katherine nor Agnes would have cared whether she had lived or died in the fire.
She looked up to find Ramsay gazing at her over his shoulder, and she felt the same strong tug from within, urging her to go to him. Sophie stood in the center of the room, tongue-tied by the unfamiliar sensations this man produced in her.
Then he turned and pulled the door shut.
Sophie should have left the townhouse that day, before the master of the house returned from his trip. She would have left, too, but once she’d eaten and bathed, she fell asleep—exhausted by her difficult time in London in the freezing weather—and slept the entire day. When she woke for the second time in the little bedroom on the second level, she was alarmed to find darkness had already fallen outside, as well as a great deal of snow.
Quietly, Sophie dressed in fresh underclothes, hose, and a sack dress the housekeeper had procured for her and left draped over the wing back chair. Fortunately, the loose-fitting style of the garment allowed for a variance in feminine shape, and its jonquil-colored folds slipped easily over her shoulders and barely touched the floor. Sophie found the necessary contorted combinations to fasten the bodice tight enough to suit.
On the seat of the chair were the linen pockets she had worn under her blue dress. Sophie picked them up, gratified to feel the weight in the left one. She checked to make sure the breeches buckle was still there, and then tied the pockets at her waist under the voluminous silk of her dress. At least the servants of the household had been honest enough not to steal the diamond buckle while she slept.
On the floor near the legs of the chair were her well worn slippers, which were now torn and soiled and still a bit damp, but they would have to serve until she could find another pair. She pushed her feet into them.
Hoping the captain was still gone for the day, Sophie let herself out of the bedchamber and tip-toed down the hall, pausing at the top of the stairs to listen for any evidence of human activity. She heard nothing but a distant rattle of pans in the kitchen on the lower level of the townhouse. Carefully, she made her way down the stairs, her heart pounding for fear of discovery. Just as she gained the last step, she heard someone slam the knocker against the plate at the front door. Startled by the harsh sound, Sophie darted to the first room on her left and hid behind the door.
“Just a moment!” Mrs. Betrus called.
Sophie could hear the housekeeper hobbling down the hall toward the front door. The knocker clanged again, even louder the second time.
“Lord!” Mrs. Betrus muttered as she walked past Sophie’s hiding place. “Patience is a virtue, you know.”
Sophie peered through the crack between the edge of the door and the woodwork and saw the housekeeper open the front door of the townhouse. Wind from the street rustled the black wool of her skirt around the housekeeper’s sturdy shoes.
“Yes?” Mrs. Betrus kept one hand on the latch as a dark shape stepped into the glow from the candles in the hall.
“Constable Keener, madam. Good evening.”
Sophie’s blood froze in her veins. Had he discovered her hiding place?
“Is there something wrong, constable?” Mrs. Betrus asked.
“Yes. My assistants and I are going door to door warning good citizens such as yourself to be on the lookout for this young woman.” He handed a paper to the housekeeper, which Sophie guessed was the handbill being circulated about her.
Mrs. Betrus glanced down at the sheet. “Sophie Vernet? Who might she be?”
“A murderess. A dangerous criminal.”
“Really?” Mrs. Betrus held the paper close to the end of her nose as if nearsighted. “She looks so innocent!”
“It’s not the best likeness, madam, but yes. That’s Sophie Vernet. We have reason to believe she might be in the neighborhood. She was last seen near the Queen & Cross, which is not far from here.”
“Where they had the fire last night?”
“Yes, ma’am. I wouldn’t doubt but she started it.”
“Why would she do such a thing?”
“To cover her tracks. This young woman is devious, madam. She’s managed to elude capture for two days. But we’ve got more men on the job now and have notified all the ports, all the turnpike officials. She won’t get far.”
“She’s young for such things, isn’t she? It says here that she’s only nineteen.”
“True. But the devil is in this one, madam, and I advise you to be wary of anyone who might fit her description. Sophie Vernet would sooner slit your throat than ask for the time of day.”
“Lord!”
“No need to worry, though, madam. We have men on every street corner for blocks around. They know what this murderess looks like, and they are keen on finding her. You can be sure of that. In the meantime, keep your doors locked. Keep your eyes open. And if you see anything suspicious, I would ask that you to send a note around to the Chestnut Lamb. There might even be something in it for you in the way of compensation.”
“I will keep it in mind, constable. Thank you.”
“And I thank you, madam. Goodnight.”
In despair, Sophie sank against the wall. What would she do now, with thief-takers lurking on every corner, waiting to apprehend a suspicious-looking female traveling alone? How could she possibly get past them? And what would she do if she could make it to a ship? More agents of the constable would be waiting for her at the docks. One thing she knew for certain: she could not leave this house for a few days at the very earliest. As Sophie Vernet, she was literally trapped in the home of Captain Ramsay. As Katherine Hinds, she could buy herself valuable time.
Sophie fingered the hard lump in the pocket tied beneath her skirts. The diamond-studded buckle was her only hope now. She would use it to buy her freedom and passage to another country where she could start life anew, but only if she escaped the local authorities.
Until the witch-hunt for her had died down, however, she would have to conceal her identity and her whereabouts. What better way to hide than in the guise of another woman. But would it be possible to pull off such a charade? Sophie frowned. In appearance, she was very much like her mistress. The small painting that had been sent to Edward Metcalf could have been the likeness of Katherine or Sophie. No one but Captain Ramsay had met Katherine, and even he had not seen her face. The only problem she might encounter would be if Katherine had survived the fire and made herself known.
Sophie lingered in the dining room until Mrs. Betrus returned downstairs to the kitchen. Then she retraced her steps to her bedchamber to await the arrival of Captain Ramsay, whom she hoped would be able to provide her with news of the fire.
Normally Ramsay ate alone near in his study at the back at the house, but that evening he was forced to take his meal in the dining room with Miss Hinds. Mrs. Betrus served a beef stew and great chunks of bread, with slices of winter apples and cheese. He was amused by the young woman’s hearty appetite, and decided to let her eat her fill before he brought up the subject of Edward Metcalf. She didn’t chat much and never once assumed an imperious air, for which he was grateful and not a little surprised.
Then, after Ramsay poured them each a second glass of wine, he sat back and let his gaze settle upon her face.
“So tell me, Miss Hinds,” he began, “how much do you know of London society?”
He thought he saw her gulp at the question.
“Not very much. I’ve never been to London before.” She blinked and slightly tilted her head. “Not to change the subject, Captain Ramsay, but did you happen to make inquiries as to the fate of my governess?”
“I’m afraid there was nothing to be found of her.”
“She perished?”
“There were many deaths. Many bodies burned beyond recognition.”
“And my maidservant?”
“Apparently she is the notorious Sophie Vernet, on the run from the law, and wasn’t there at the time.”
“They are wrong about Sophie.” She looked down for a moment, her face pale. “She would never hurt anyone. And she would never steal.”
“Perhaps. But perhaps you don’t know her as well as you think, Miss Hinds. Servants often have secret lives and secret dreams that they never reveal to their masters.”
Sophie glanced up at him, her eyes dark with emotion, her mouth suddenly drawn into a small ruined smile. What was the young woman thinking about?
He took a sip of wine and studied her soft features, her slender nose, and her smoky-blue eyes. Their color was smudged by the long sweep of her unusually straight lashes, the kind often seen on a colt. “As for other matters, when your grandmother arrives, she will undoubtedly arrange a party or two for you. You will be introduced to many eligible men.”
“Eligible men? What are you implying, sir?”
“That a beautiful woman such as yourself could have her pick of men—instead of settling for the Earl of Blethin.”
“Why must you continue this quest to turn me off from marriage to him?”
“He is not what he seems.”
“Is anyone?” She gave a short laugh and leaned forward for the wine goblet that he had inadvertently set just out of easy reach. As she did so, the lace sleeve of her dress pulled back on her right arm, revealing a crimson line on her forearm.
At the sight of the wound, Ramsay clutched her delicate wrist in his hand and folded her arm upward, so that the cloud of lace fell back to her elbow. Shocked, she cried out and tried to yank out of his grip, but he held her fast.
There on the young woman’s lovely white forearm was the mark of the murderess, Sophie Vernet, the woman who had hid in his coach and then disappeared. He had thought her voice was familiar! Never having seen either of the young women clearly, he had mistaken Sophie for the heiress.
“You’re hurt,” he exclaimed, quickly masking his initial surprise.
“It’s just a scratch,” she replied, “from the fire.” Her eyes were round with alarm that she tried hard to conceal. “Please, let go of me.”
He complied. “I wonder the doctor didn’t see that injury.”
“It’s nothing.” She adjusted the lace to cover her arm, while Ramsay’s thoughts soared off in a completely new direction. Suddenly everything made sense, including his altered opinion of Miss Hinds and her unemotional reaction to the fate of her governess. This woman wasn’t the heiress from the West Indies. This woman was an imposter. He had sensed it all along. Now he had proof.
Before Ramsay could say anything more, he heard a loud rapping at the front door. A moment later, Mrs. Betrus hobbled into the dining room.
“Lord Metcalf to see you, Captain.”
“Metcalf? At this hour?”
“And his sister, Lady Charlotte.”
“Curious.” Ramsay dabbed his mouth with his napkin and rose as Sophie got to her feet as well.
“Stay here,” he instructed. “I will speak to the earl on your behalf.”
“But he is my betrothed.”
“True.” Ramsay glanced at her, admiring her pluck and her ability to think on her feet during what had to be a trying situation. “But do you wish to see him in these circumstances, Miss Hinds? This will be his first impression of you.”
She flushed, and he suddenly wondered if his remark had been too harsh. He could not admit it to her now, but he doubted Sophie Vernet would ever make a bad impression, even in her present state of disarray. In fact, he found her tousled hair and unpowdered skin disturbingly attractive, as equally attractive as she had been early this morning, when he had caught her in her nightgown and her breasts had quickened beneath the heat of his stare. His blood had risen at the sight, just as it threatened to rise now.
However, it was not in his best interests to allow lustful thoughts to interfere with his plans. Ramsay forced his mind back to the matter at hand. He could not permit Sophie to meet Edward, not until he was certain Edward wouldn’t suspect she was an imposter. He had every intention to see her wed to Edward now. If the earl married a penniless criminal, he would be ruined for certain.
“You do wish to make a good impression, don’t you?” Ramsay added.
“Of course. You’re right. Please tell Lord Metcalf that I am indisposed—because of my burns.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
He had guessed she wouldn’t protest, and she hadn’t, at least not stridently. She sank back to her seat, her face clouded with concern, an expression he doubted would have ever crossed the countenance of the real Miss Hinds.
“Show them into the parlor, Betty,” Ramsay said. “And I’ll see what the earl and his sister require.”
Chapter 5
“I’ve been informed that you have taken in Miss Hinds,” Edward Metcalf said after terse greetings were exchanged. Ramsay glanced at Charlotte Metcalf, Edward’s sister, who had been giving him a lengthy and appreciative perusal from the moment he’d entered the room. She inclined her head toward him.
“A noble gesture, Captain Ramsay.”
“More a convenience for her than noble,” Ramsay replied, motioning for them to sit. Charlotte lowered herself to the settee, but her brother remained standing before the fire. Ramsay sat in a chair next to the settee.
“I was alerted regarding the fire at the inn,” Ramsay continued, “and was able to offer my services to her.”
“I heard she jumped into your arms, sir,” Charlotte put in, her eyes sparkling. “So heroic!”
“Heroic?” Edward sneered. “I’d say damned convenient.” He narrowed his eyes. “May I remind you, Ramsay, that Miss Hinds is my betrothed.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Ramsay drawled.
“Well, don’t.” Edward took a pinch of snuff without offering any to his host. “You have a way of inserting yourself—“
“I offer the protection of my home, nothing more.”
“As to that, your hospitality is no longer necessary,” Edward seemed eager to downplay any notion that Ramsay had performed a good deed. “Charlotte and I are here to fetch Miss Hinds to Blethin Hall.”
“Blethin Hall?”
“She’ll be much more comfortable there.”
“Besides, she’s almost family.” Charlotte leaned forward and touched Ramsay’s sleeve. “And I can’t tell you how excited I am to have a sister at last!”
Ramsay glanced at Charlotte’s bright brown eyes and imagined the young woman became excited over many things—especially men of whom her brother did not approve, of which he was one. As if to shield her from the very thing, Edward stepped behind his sister.
“I’m certain Miss Hinds will appreciate the company of the fairer sex until the time her grandmother arrives.”
“Actually,” Ramsay replied, “Miss Hinds has requested that I convey her compliments to you and inform you that she intends to remain here a day or two more while she recovers.”
“She is not hurt!” Charlotte gasped.
“She has few minor burns.”
“And has a doctor seen to her?”
“Of course. She will be fine very soon. But she has lost all her belongings and does not wish to meet Lord Metcalf until she is more
presentable. You understand.”
“Ridiculous!” Edward sputtered. “This truly tries my patience!”
“She wishes to make a good impression.”
“But she’s been in London for two days and I haven’t even met the girl yet.”
“It could not be helped.”
“While you plot and scheme!”
“Edward!” Charlotte rose to stare in alarm at her red-faced brother. “Really, whatever has come over you?”
“You don’t know Ramsay as I do,” Edward retorted. “He’ll use the friendship of Miss Hinds for his own ends, mark my words!”
“And what ends would that be?” Ramsay gave a soft chuckle. “I have no interest in the girl. She’s charming, but nearly half my age.”
“You fail to mention her fat inheritance,” Edward threw at him. “A minor detail. So easily overlooked.”
“Where I come from,” Ramsay replied, “A gentleman does not discuss such things before tea.”
Edward flushed a deeper scarlet.
“Shall I ring for some?” Ramsay asked. “Or would you prefer port?”
“Thank you, no,” Edward drew up as if to compose himself. “Send for Miss Hinds and we will trouble you no more this evening.”
“I’m afraid Miss Hinds retired shortly after supper. Would you care to leave her a note?”
“This will not do!”
Charlotte smiled as if to offset her brother’s anger and linked her arm through his. “Edward, it might be best to—“
“What if he’s keeping her here against her will?”
“I doubt a woman would object to Mr. Ramsay’s attention.” She sent Ramsay a look from under her lashes that conveyed a single meaning. Ramsay turned away, pretending not to have seen the expression.
“I assure you that Miss Hinds will receive your note the moment she is awake, and I will send her answer as soon as possible. That is the very best I can do, Metcalf, other than rousing her from sleep, which she would surely not appreciate.”
“Very well,” Edward said, obviously cross. “I see that I shall get no satisfaction from you.” He glared down at his sister. “You write something, Lotty. You’ll know what to say.”
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