Her Majesty’s Scoundrels

by Christy Carlyle

  Unfortunately for Elliott, that meant more of his time. While relieved to know his grandmother was recovering, he hadn’t managed a moment alone with Sophia.

  Considering how little he’d been home, their lack of time together wasn’t a surprise, but he was starting to wonder if she was deliberately avoiding him. It wasn’t difficult to interpret the doubt and caution in her eyes the few times he’d seen her. Part of him wanted to pull her into the closest empty room when he next saw her and kiss her senseless to remove that look.

  But the other part of him understood her confusion and doubt. He felt the same. Sophia roused feelings in him that he’d never experienced, and he had no idea what to do with them.

  With everything else happening, he told himself he’d resolve things with her after the looming threat was removed, and he had time to think, to decide what he wanted.

  Even to his ears, that sounded hollow. He was normally a man of action, indecisiveness not part of his nature.

  As a viscount’s daughter, Sophia was not only a lady by birth but also in the way she acted. If he wanted to move forward with her, he needed to consider the options carefully. With so many pressing issues vying for his attention, postponing any decisions regarding her seemed the best option.

  Yet as he walked into his grandmother’s bedroom and his gaze caught on Sophia, all logic flew out the door as affection took hold in his chest and squeezed. Tight.

  She sat before the window, rare afternoon sunlight streaming in, lighting her dark curls with a golden glow, her focus on the thread in her lap. His world shifted, his worry over the recent threats easing. It was almost as if when he was in her presence, the world realigned. All was well as long as she was near.

  The thought both excited and terrified him. And he had no idea what to do about it.

  “Elliott.” His grandmother’s greeting from her bed drew his focus.

  “I have come to see how my favorite patient is doing,” he said as he kissed her cheeks.

  “I would prefer a more affectionate term of endearment as I do not intend to be a patient any longer than I must. I am growing stronger by the day.”

  He eased back to study her. The bruise on her forehead had faded to purple. “I like the pink in your cheeks, but I don’t care for the roughness of your voice.”

  “Sophia insists I sound as if I swallowed a frog.”

  Sophia’s gaze met his as she rose and curtsied. The deepening pink in her cheeks caused his pulse to speed.

  “I believe she is correct.” They shared a smile, which only made his heart pound faster. He wasn’t certain what to make of his reaction to her today.

  “Do you believe she’s improving?” he asked.

  “Indeed, I do.” Sophia shifted her gaze to his grandmother. “She insists she’ll return to normal activities on the morrow.”

  Elliott frowned. “It seems far too early for that.”

  “Nonsense,” his grandmother argued. “I can’t continue to lie abed. I will drive Sophia to tears with boredom. Going out and about stirs the senses, you know. Quite good for one’s health.”

  “Do you promise to return home the moment you feel tired?” He knew there was no point in arguing with her. She knew her own mind. His only hope was to encourage her to act in moderation.

  “Of course. Sophia and I have already discussed this at length.”

  Once again, he was grateful for Sophia’s presence, not to mention her level-headedness. Since he had to be gone so much right now, he didn’t know what he’d do without her to watch over his grandmother.

  “You’ve certainly been busy of late.” His grandmother’s tone held a note of admonishment.

  Guilt resurged, though it was never far from the surface. “I expect my calendar will ease in a week or two.” He wished he could tell her more. Tell them both more.

  It would be helpful to discuss the details of what he’d learned to gain another perspective. A woman’s viewpoint might be especially insightful. They observed different things than men.

  But he had no desire to put either of them at risk. Learning of his activities might do just that. Those wishing to cause harm grew more clever by the day. He knew of two lords who’d discovered Russian anarchists working as footmen in their own home.

  “So many events to attend. Busy time of the year.” He gave a careless smile, aware of Sophia’s watchful gaze.

  A sinking feeling came over him. How could he consider having a relationship with her when he continually told her lies?

  How much had his grandfather told his grandmother? Where was the line between keeping one’s family safe and sharing honest communication?

  “Did you hear the Royal Albert Hall is open?” his grandmother asked.

  “The concert hall?” Elliott nodded. “I understand the Queen made a rare public appearance at the opening ceremony.”

  “My cousin’s family, the Fairchilds, attended a concert last week. Daphne told us it was superb,” Sophia said.

  “Are you planning to attend a concert soon?” Elliott asked.

  “Yes, though we haven’t determined which one.” His grandmother pushed herself higher against her pillows. “Sophia is acquiring a schedule so we might decide.”

  “Let me know which one you select. Perhaps I will invite myself along.”

  “We would like nothing more. Isn’t that right, Sophia?”

  Her companion merely nodded, not acting pleased in the least.

  “I am also considering throwing a party.” His grandmother tapped the bed cover with a finger as she gazed out the window. “Nothing too large, of course. Something intimate.”

  Sophia looked up from her needlework to watch his grandmother. Apparently, this was the first she’d heard of the plan. She glanced questioningly at Elliott.

  “Not until you have fully recovered, I hope,” he said.

  “Of course not. In a few weeks.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to overtax yourself with the planning and arrangements.”

  “I have Sophia to assist me. It has been far too long since we’ve held a sizeable gathering here.”

  He could only think of one or two since his grandfather’s death, other than intimate dinners with relatives.

  “Sophia should meet some young people her age.”

  Sophia’s head popped up in alarm. “There’s no need to have a party for my benefit, my lady. I’m quite content.”

  “Nonsense. You cannot remain a companion forever.”

  “Actually—”

  His grandmother waved her hand in dismissal. “Despite what your well-meaning aunt told you, it’s a terrible notion. There is more to life than spending time with an old woman.”

  “But—”

  “I would like to rest for a spell, so I will ask you both to leave me for a time.” She held up her finger. “I promise not to rise without calling for the maid. I won’t risk falling again.”

  In short order, Elliott found himself standing in the hall with Sophia, perplexed by his grandmother’s behavior. He studied Sophia. “What was all that about?”

  “I have no idea.” She stared at the closed door as though as puzzled as he.

  Elliott hesitated but couldn’t help himself. “May I ask what your aunt told you?”

  For a long moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer. “She suggested obtaining a position and earning a wage would be the best course of action for me.”

  He took her elbow to steer her toward the stairs, not ready for her to disappear now that they were finally alone. “Not finding a husband?”

  “She never married and frequently pointed out the disadvantages of my mother’s decision to do so.” She looked decidedly uncomfortable with the conversation.

  Despite that, Elliott couldn’t help himself. “Why?”

  “My father left us in less than ideal circumstances when he died. According to my aunt, he was a rogue who spent money beyond his means on women and horses, even during their marriage.”

  �
��I am sorry to hear that. Didn’t you say you were only six years when he died?”

  “Yes. I don’t remember him well.” She shook her head as though to clear her thoughts. Or was it to deny what she did remember?

  “What of your mother? What advice did she give you?”

  Sophia met his gaze at last. “To never marry a scoundrel.”

  Before he could think of a response, she turned and hurried up the stairs toward her room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

  Sophia had suggested, cajoled, and argued, all to no avail. The countess would not be dissuaded from her plan to host a party. She had gone so far as to request a modiste to call upon them so they could order new gowns. The woman was to arrive that very afternoon with samples to show them.

  Sophia had no choice but to enlist Elliott’s aid. He didn’t seem to be in favor of the party either. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been vocal enough about his displeasure. If only to keep the countess from overextending herself, the party was a poor idea.

  The thought of helping to host such a gathering made Sophia ill with nerves. She didn’t know how to do it or how to act during it or...well, anything. Attending a function as a companion would be far different than as a—

  Sophia stopped short in the middle of the hall. What would she be?

  A few of the countess’s comments made her feel as if she was holding the party in large part for Sophia’s benefit.

  No matter how many times Sophia had told her she didn’t wish to find a nice young man with whom to raise a family, the countess countered with a reason why she should.

  The older woman insisted Sophia’s aunt had the wrong notions about life, most especially about men and marriage. “No doubt somewhere along the way, a man broke her heart.”

  Perhaps that was true, but it didn’t change Sophia’s mind. She wanted to secure her own future and not be dependent on anyone to put a roof over her head and food on the table. Granted, wages as a companion paid little, but she saved nearly everything she made. Already she had a modest amount set aside.

  Elliott could change the countess’s mind if he tried. While he’d said a few words of discouragement, for the most part, he’d ignored the plans.

  Sophia wanted to bring the situation to his attention, along with her worry that it was all too much for his grandmother. She was becoming more and more active, but hosting a party was different from merely attending a ball for a few hours. The worrying and fussing over all the details it required would risk a setback.

  Having heard him return earlier, she knocked on his library door, surprised a footman wasn’t standing there. Muffled voices could be heard, but nothing she could understand. She knocked again, harder this time.

  “Come.” While still difficult to hear, she had no doubt of the word. She opened the door only to stop short at the sight of a shirtless Elliott before his desk, Codwell standing at his side.

  Elliott’s brow raised in surprise at her entrance. At least, she thought it did. She couldn’t take her eyes off his body. Broad shoulders. Golden skin. Dark hair swirling over his sculpted chest. While she’d caught a glimpse of it when she unbuttoned his clothes, she hadn’t seen this.

  All thought stopped as she processed the sight before her.

  Then she saw the blood.

  A deep slice along his ribs oozed with it.

  With a gasp, she hurried forward, not thinking of the inappropriateness of her presence, only worrying about Elliott. “What happened?”

  “I thought you were the footman.” Elliott reached for his shirt.

  Sophia ignored him and looked at Codwell. “What happened?”

  “His lordship was on the wrong end of a knife fight with no knife.”

  The limited answer was not nearly enough of an explanation. “Where?”

  “Yes, where is the footman with the bandages?” Elliott asked, deliberately turning her question as he shifted in the chair, obviously in pain, holding his shirt awkwardly before him.

  “I will see what is taking him so long.” Codwell hurried out of the room. It was the fastest Sophia had ever seen the butler move.

  “No, I—” Elliott shook his head at the closed door.

  “How on earth did you end up in a knife fight?” Sophia took his shirt and set it aside then used his handkerchief to dab the blood so she could better see the injury.

  “Luck, I suppose.”

  “You have a terrible habit of never giving a straight answer.”

  “Do I?”

  She glared at him from where she knelt at his side. “Yes, you do.”

  He only closed his eyes with a grimace. No doubt his injury hurt terribly.

  “Scissors?” she asked. Apparently Codwell and the footman hadn’t located any bandages as they had yet to return. “I assume this shirt is already ruined, and you won’t mind if I cut it for bandages.”

  “Top left drawer.”

  She retrieved them and cut his shirt into strips. Then she took the decanter of brandy from the sideboard.

  “Thirsty?” She ignored the dry note in Elliott’s tone.

  She created strips of bandages from the shirt, splashed some of the liquor on one of the folded strips, and pressed it against his side. Though it must’ve hurt terribly, his only reaction was a quiver of his flat stomach. She did her best to focus on the injury and not his bare chest. She poured a healthy dose of brandy in a glass and handed it to him.

  He drank deeply before setting the glass on his desk. “Can’t imagine where Codwell went.” His gaze met hers. “Bandaged many knife wounds?”

  “No, but I often assisted our cook in aiding villagers and farmers with injuries.” She gestured for him to hold the bandage against his side then tied several strips together.

  “Humph.”

  She examined the wound one more time then reached around him to bind the makeshift pad around his middle. “I don’t think you’ll need to be stitched, but no doubt Codwell is sending for the doctor.”

  Though she berated herself for noticing, especially when he was wounded, her gaze lingered on his muscled chest and broad shoulders. The heat of his skin beneath her hands surprised her as she reached around him several times, smoothing the strips into place.

  “You are a conundrum, Sophia.”

  She glanced up in surprise. “Because I can bind a wound? I hardly think so.”

  “I don’t know what to do about you.” He reached out to touch her cheek.

  Longing flooded her, heat rising through her entire body. “I don’t know what to do about you either.” She bit her lip, realizing she shouldn’t have said such a thing.

  “May I kiss you?” He moved his finger to lift her chin.

  His green eyes held hers. She couldn’t deny him anything in that moment. Instead, she lifted to meet his lips, anxious for the taste of him and the glorious way he made her feel. She didn’t pretend to understand what this was.

  Passion? Affection? Love?

  Her heart squeezed at the last word, as though answering her own question. No, she couldn’t be falling for a scoundrel. She’d promised herself never to repeat her mother’s mistake. Not after watching her grieve for her father, leaving her a shell of her former self.

  Sophia wanted more than that. But she also wanted Elliott. The two seemed miles apart.

  Was it so wrong to grab these few moments of pleasure? Surely she was strong enough not to lose herself, wasn’t she?

  When Elliott deepened the kiss, her worries fell away and sensation took over. Nothing mattered except this moment.

  He eased back to kiss her cheek. “Sophia.”

  A knock on the door saved her from responding. She rose and eased back as Codwell and the footman entered.

  Sophia walked quickly toward the door, only half listening as the butler suggested calling for the doctor while Elliott insisted he was fine.

  Heart pounding, she realized she’d been wrong. Indulging in those moments of pleasure with Elliott was a mistake. For each time, he took
a piece of her heart. Soon she wouldn’t have any left.

  Chapter Nine

  “Is it true?” Daphne asked in lieu of greeting Sophia at the Stanford’s party two nights later.

  “What?”

  “That the earl was injured in a knife fight at a brothel?” Her bright eyes were lit with curiosity.

  Sophia’s heart fell. “A brothel?” Why would he kiss her when he’d just been to a brothel? But wait. He’d arrived home in the middle of the day. Wasn’t a brothel a place men visited in the evening?

  Daphne held her arm, her gaze riveted on Sophia. “You seem more surprised by the brothel information than the knife wound. Does that mean you knew he was injured?”

  Sophia glanced at the countess, wanting to make certain she hadn’t heard Daphne’s comments. The elderly woman sat in a nearby chair, a cane at her side. Several of her friends visited with her. Hopefully this information wouldn’t reach her ears.

  “I hope you’re not spreading such a rumor,” Sophia said at last, unable to keep a note of censure from her tone.

  “Of course not. I only heard it a few moments ago and came directly to you.”

  “From who?”

  “Viscount Grover, though I don’t believe he meant anyone other than Viscount Rutland to hear.” At Sophia’s frown, Daphne lifted a shoulder. “I happened to be passing behind them on my way to see my mother. It’s interesting what one learns when one is invisible.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Daphne waved her hand in the air. “A topic for another time. But is it true? Is the earl well?”

  Aware of Daphne’s continued regard, Sophia wasn’t certain how to respond. She adored Daphne, but in truth she didn’t want to share any information about Elliott. Besides, Sophia knew nothing other than that Elliott had been stabbed.

  “Trust you to be unwilling to gossip.” Daphne gave a beleaguered sigh. “I suppose it will be one more unconfirmed rumor regarding the earl.”

  “I suppose so.”

  Sophia couldn’t release her suspicion about the rumors. Were any of them true? Was there a way to discover where and how he spent his days? If she could either confirm or deny his reputation, then perhaps she would know what to do about her feelings for him.