Three Secrets and a Scandal (Regency Secrets and Scandals Book 2)

by Elizabeth Hanbury

  The heavy-jowled, pessimistic-looking man of perhaps thirty years old who sat near the fireplace reading his newspaper was, Sophie suggested, a merchant fallen on hard times. The young man with an anxious expression, seated near the window with the stout older lady, was taking his mama to meet his betrothed’s family and terrified they would not approve of each other. The bearing of the gentleman sitting at the table in the corner declared that he was, in Sophie’s opinion, a soldier. The girl accompanying him, who threw adoring looks in his direction, must be his sweetheart. Sophie, studying them covertly, declared they were probably lovers in the throes of a clandestine affair.

  Theo had been listening to these descriptions with amusement, but this caused him to choke on his ale which immediately drew upon him the attention of the other occupants. “Keep your voice down, for goodness sake!” he urged. “I’d rather not be called out in the middle of the afternoon!”

  “But you must agree they look very much in love,” said Sophie, shooting him an innocent look over her teacup. “I think it vastly romantic, don’t you?”

  “I suppose so,” agreed Theo, glancing at the couple in question and, for some reason while in Sophie’s company, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks at their subtle displays of affection. “But it’s wiser not to be curious about people’s business in places such as this. Could get you into trouble.”

  “I’m sorry if I’ve been indiscreet,” she said, looking downcast.

  “No, no!” he insisted. “You haven’t said anything wrong—in fact, I was enjoying your observations—but best not let anyone else hear them.” When she still looked crestfallen, he took her hands in a comforting grasp. “You’re a strange girl,” he murmured, his voice warm and teasing. “My words have upset you when a headlong flight from Bath could not. I’m sorry, this must be a difficult journey for you. You’ve left behind your home and all you know and I don’t want to add to your distress.”

  “Indeed, you haven’t.” Sophie’s gaze fell and she gave a helpless shrug as she studied the hands holding hers. “I am to blame. I’m too impulsive and often think without speaking. Aunt Eudora is always criticising me for it. She says I’m wild to a fault and my behaviour and manners do not match those expected of a delicately bred female.”

  Theo uttered a mild curse. “Your aunt is a fool, Sophie. You’re an impetuous girl, but a charming one nevertheless.”

  His words seeped into Sophie’s soul, the timbre of his voice conveying much more than his light-hearted comment alone did. She looked up to find him regarding her intently, some indiscernible emotion flaring in his eyes. Her heart leapt in response and, just as before, her skin grew highly sensitised under his touch.

  An unfamiliar thrill of sensation began to spread throughout her body. It was so fierce and compelling she was forced to stifle a gasp as it leapt from nerve to nerve, igniting her senses in a blaze of anticipation. Her blood felt like it was on fire and pleasure raced through her. Dazed and uncertain, her gaze remained fixed on the man so close to her. She had never experienced such feelings before, but even as her body revelled in them, her mind reeled in shock and confusion.

  This was wrong. It had to be.

  Such feelings seemed disloyal to James, and even though part of Sophie knew it was ridiculous to think that way, she seized on the thought as a way of dealing with her reaction.

  “Thank you,” she said huskily as she disengaged her fingers. “Perhaps I am not as graceless as my aunt says, but I should learn to curb my tongue. My passionate nature is to blame. I wish I was more like Olivia. She doesn’t blurt things out at inconvenient moments.”

  “But Olivia couldn’t stand up to her mother without your help,” Theo pointed out. “Don’t underestimate yourself. You have charm and spirit, qualities considered an attractive combination by many in the ton.”

  When she did not respond, he added, “I need to see if the horses have been dealt with. Do you mind waiting here for a while?”

  She shook her head and, after a slight hesitation when he looked as if he would say more, he nodded, got to his feet and strolled out.

  Sophie exhaled slowly. What was the matter with her? It would not do to behave like a dewy-eyed idiot. Her aim was to reach James and she must not plague her rescuer with her problems a moment longer than necessary.

  She walked to the window to survey the busy scene in the courtyard outside and again pondered James’s reaction when she arrived on his doorstep. Once he had recovered from his surprise, she was sure he would be glad to see her. She was less certain how he would react to her proposal. Some of the confidence she had felt when forming her plan had already drained away. The idea had seemed perfectly reasonable while lying in bed at Ludstone. Here and now, in a bustling inn on the road to London, it appeared impulsive if not downright foolish.

  Sophie gritted her teeth against the thought. Her actions might be foolish, but she could not go back. James was the one person who could offer her sanctuary.

  Gradually, she became aware the hum of conversation had faded away. Feeling a sliver of alarm, she wheeled around. She was alone apart from the pessimistic-looking man, who had put down his newspaper and now sat watching her. He did not attempt to disguise his insolent, admiring look which roamed lasciviously over Sophie. Then he licked his lips in a way that made her skin crawl. She shivered, wishing Theo would return. When the door opened a moment later, her eyes flew to it in relief.

  It was not Theo, but one of the young post boys employed by the inn. Even so, Sophie was glad she was no longer alone with the man who had eyed her in that unpleasant way. The post boy shut the door, hurried over to the traveller’s table and spoke to him in low accents.

  Whatever he said was not well received; the man’s expression turned ugly.

  “Imbecile!” he roared, a flush spreading over his neck and face. “I said half an hour and no more.”

  “Sorry, Mr Melville, but one of the horses was lame and we’ve had to find a replacement,” replied the boy, cowering in the face of this sudden fury. “‘t’will be but a short while now and you can be on your way again.”

  Mr Melville got to his feet. He towered over the lad, who was trembling in his boots.

  “I expect better service than this.” He thrust his nose within inches of the boy’s face.

  The lad recoiled. “We’re doing our best, sir.”

  “I doubt it.” Melville’s mouth twisted mirthlessly. “Suppose my money’s not as good as the Quality’s, eh? You’ve been bribed to deal with some fancy mort’s cattle before mine!”

  The post boy hurried to correct this. “N-No indeed, sir! Every customer at the Castle is important. It’s as I said—”

  He got no further. Sophie watched in horror as Melville swung his fist, catching the lad on the side of the head with a sickening thwack and sending him flying across the room. He landed by the wall where he lay stunned, a vivid circular weal already emerging on his cheek.

  Appalled, Sophie hurried over and fell to her knees by the boy.

  His eyes were closed, but he mumbled a faint, unintelligible comment. Indignation and anger swelled in Sophie’s breast. She had always detested injustice in any form. After telling him to lie still, she stood up and rounded on his assailant.

  “How dare you treat the child in that way?” she said, eyes blazing.

  Melville threw her a scornful look. “He’s a servant and I’ll deal with him any way I choose. I told him I wanted my carriage ready in good time and he failed. He’s got his reward now. What business is it of yours how I treat the miserable little snipe?”

  “I can’t see you strike him in that disgusting way and remain silent! Whatever your grievance, it cannot justify such treatment.”

  He came toward her a little unsteadily. “Quite the firecracker, aren’t you?” he leered. “I like spirit in a woman. Thought you were a prime article the moment I saw you.”

  Sophie willed her heart to stop hammering so hard against her ribs. If she could keep him talki
ng a moment longer, someone must come in. “Keep your observations to yourself and help the boy.”

  His ugly smirk revealed a set of stained teeth. “I’ll do nothing of the sort. It will teach him not to disobey his betters in future. What’s your name? I’d like us to get acquainted and since your beau has abandoned you—”

  “He will return at any moment.”

  He sniggered, sending a waft of wine-laden breath into Sophie’s face.

  “Maybe he will, but there’s no need to be coy in the meantime. You can spare Josiah Melville a kiss before he comes back. There’s no one else to see.”

  Shuddering, Sophie scuttled behind a chair. “You must be mad, drunk or both! It’s the middle of the afternoon and someone is bound to come in.”

  “But rarely do I find myself alone with such a taking little piece and I’ve a mind to make the most of it. First bit of luck I’ve had in weeks!” He edged closer, giving her a lupine look. “One kiss is not too much to ask, is it? Or maybe you’re too grand for the likes of me.”

  Sophie glanced at the door to judge whether she could make a dash for it. She kept her face blank, refusing to let him see her growing alarm. “The boy…he needs attending to.”

  Melville’s hand shot forward, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her wrist. “Not yet,” he said, tugging her towards him.

  In reply, Sophie stamped on his foot, grinding the heel of her boot into his toes. At the same time, she swung her reticule. The coins it contained gave it added impetus and it caught him on the nose. He gave a startled howl of pain and relaxed his hold, allowing Sophie to twist out of his grasp. In four quick steps, she was by the door with her hand on the handle, her breathing quick and shallow.

  “Sir,” she began, in an admirably even voice, “I do not appreciate being mauled in this fashion—”

  She was interrupted by Theo, who opened the door from the other side in time to hear her words.

  He pulled up short, his swift glance taking in the scene. A crease formed between his brows. He did not speak, but walked over to Melville who was gingerly trying to put his weight on his injured foot, pull himself up to his full height, rub the swelling on his nose and stem the blood flowing from his nostrils all at the same time.

  There was a tension-filled pause until Theo said with cool civility, “It seems I have returned at an opportune moment. Have you been bothering Miss Devereux?”

  “I didn’t mean…I didn’t realize—” said Melville.

  “Oh, I’m sure you did,” interjected Theo, in a voice replete with menace. “Step outside, if you please.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I prefer not to make a mess of the coffee room.”

  Sweat gathered on Melville’s brow. His truculent gaze met Theo’s, then fell in the face of the wrath he saw there. Rapidly sobering, he did not move but shrugged in response and indicated Sophie with a wave of his hand. “This lady interfered in something that was none of her business.”

  “Mr Melville assaulted the post boy,” explained Sophie. “He then behaved in a contemptible manner toward me.”

  Fury blazed in Theo’s eyes. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. You came back in time.”

  Some of the tension seemed to leave Theo’s body. Acknowledging Sophie’s reply with a nod, he looked at the post boy who had now struggled to his feet, swaying and looking groggy. Then Theo’s kindling gaze swung back to Melville.

  “You snivelling coward,” he said softly through shut teeth. “You accost boys and defenceless women, but refuse to answer to someone who is your equal. Miss Devereux, take the boy to the landlord while I deal with Mr Melville.”

  “I’ll stay a moment—”

  “Go. Now.”

  There was a note in Theo’s voice Sophie had not heard before. Her glance flicked uncertainly between the two men. She did not want to leave, but thought it wiser to do as Theo demanded.

  Taking the post boy by the arm, she hurried away to find the landlord. When she had done so, she gave the lad over to the bemused-looking innkeeper with a brief, disjointed explanation. Then she hurried back through the hallway and down the oak panelled corridor leading to the coffee room.

  Sophie stood still, listening. The sounds of a fracas and splintering wood were coming from within. Pushing open the door a little, she peeped inside.

  The room was in disarray. The shattered remnants of the table were strewn around the floor, along with broken tea cups, glasses, plates and a smashed earthenware jug. A pewter tankard was rolling noisily back and forth across the floor and several chairs had been overturned.

  Theo was standing on one side of the room with fists clenched, breathing heavily. Sophie watched as Melville, his face bloodied, his expression murderous, rose from his sprawled position among the wreckage. He bored in on his opponent, holding aloft the table leg he intended to use as a makeshift club.

  Helpless, she watched in horror. There was no difference in height between the combatants, but a considerable one in weight and it seemed Theo must be badly hurt. Instinct urged her to close her eyes, but she willed them to stay open and was glad she did when she had the pleasure of seeing Melville’s progress halted by a perfectly executed right hook.

  He teetered on his heels for a moment before his eyes rolled up upwards and he collapsed in a heap on the flagstone hearth, rattling the fire irons and sending embers shooting up the chimney.

  With a squeak of delight, Sophie opened the door and ran to Theo, throwing her arms around his neck and exclaiming, “You were wonderful!” She drew back to look into his face, her voice brimming with admiration. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “Jackson’s saloon,” replied Theo absently, staring down at her. Then, he cleared his throat and said in a startled tone, “Did you witness it, then?”

  “I was watching from behind the door,” she admitted. “I wish I could have done it! I had my reticule ready.”

  His lips curved into a reluctant smile. “You’re not a girl for swooning, are you?”

  “No, indeed!” She cast a critical glance over the supine Melville. “Is he badly injured? Not that I mind too much if he is, odious man!”

  “He’s seeing stars for the moment but we had best move him before his clothes catch fire.”

  “Oh, but you are injured!” she cried in sudden concern, seeing Theo wipe a trickle of blood from his mouth.

  He shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

  “It’s my fault you are hurt,” she said, wringing her hands.

  “My stupid impetuous nature is always getting me into scrapes.”

  Theo’s blinding rage was abating but now other emotions seethed inside him.

  Earlier, as he had walked back from the stables, he had mused on the discovery that, far from resenting having his time taken up by Sophie, he was enjoying the experience.

  His plans had been disrupted, he was now obliged to take her to London and he would have to endure his groom’s sullen expression for a month after leaving him behind. Normally even one of these circumstances would have irritated him, but every vexation was forgotten in Sophie’s company.

  She was undeniably attractive although for Theo her beauty lay as much in the sparkle in her eye and in her ready laugh than her face and figure. He had never been attracted to the beautiful but insipid misses who populated Almack’s. They were as frothy, insubstantial and as well behaved as one of the great Careme’s meringues and he was bored rigid within ten minutes of making their acquaintance. Still, he had always had the notion he would marry one of them in the future because a demure wife had seemed more appealing than a lively miss who would give him no peace. But Sophie Devereux was as different from that concept as sunshine was to moonbeams. She was delightful, a shining girl who possessed an endearing blend of candour, warmth, naivety and wisdom. Her exuberance was infectious, yet he also perceived a vein of insecurity within her, no doubt born out of her time at Ludstone. She had been told so often she was unattractive she si
mply accepted it. She was free of conceit and had no idea how appealing she was and how she would draw men’s admiration like bees to a honey pot. It was unconsciously done on Sophie’s part, but Theo felt jealousy among the other emotions fighting for release.

  He was angry with himself for leaving her alone. It was highly unusual for her to be subjected to a drunk’s attentions at a hostelry like The Castle and, in the absence of his groom, Theo knew he’d had no choice but to check on his horses, but still he blamed himself.

  And he was staggered by his reaction to her embrace. He had experienced desire before, but never had it been intertwined with these other feelings and this inconvenient, overwhelming urge to protect. He wanted to drag Sophie into his arms and never let her go. Now, looking down into her upturned face, he wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and kiss her. Not a chaste peck, but a long, satisfying kiss that would begin to ease his temptation and his torment, a kiss to allay the ache in his chest, a kiss that would at least begin to communicate how he felt. Then he wanted to trail his lips down the soft, vulnerable skin of her throat….

  Don’t think about it. Don’t.

  The frantic words swept through brain.

  He must not think of it.

  He had promised to see her reach London safely and he would be a blackguard worse than Melville if he took advantage of their situation. Suddenly, anger and frustrated desire melded and, demanding release, found an outlet in exasperation. In reply, he therefore observed in a brusque voice, “Oh, the fellow deserved it alright, but I didn’t anticipate getting involved in a brawl in the middle of the afternoon!”

  Taken aback, Sophie flushed to the roots of her hair. She stepped away. “I couldn’t help it. Melville was horrid to that poor boy, and to me—” She broke off and added huskily, “I am sorry to have inconvenienced you again.”

  “You, Miss Devereux, have a propensity for tumbling into more scrapes than any girl I’ve yet encountered!” Theo raked an agitated hand through his hair, leaving it in ruffled disorder. “My plans—indeed, my life—have been turned upside down since I met you, and upon my word I haven’t enjoyed a moment’s peace since that unfortunate moment!”