Alex followed suit, bringing his mount beside hers. One look at her crestfallen expression and he felt all his anger drain away, promptly replaced by remorse.
He was a heel. An absolute heel. She’d been proud of what she’d done to night. And if he hadn’t been so furious with her for putting herself in danger, so consumed with his fear for her safety, and (and he hated to admit this), his wounded vanity that a woman should feel it necessary to come to his rescue, he would have realized he was proud of her as well.
He cleared his throat awkwardly and did his best to swallow his ocean of pride. “It is possible you did save my life,” he offered. “It was very dark, and I may have miscalculated where the bullet would hit. And you did dispose of that last man very effectively.”
There, that should make her feel better.
She stared vacantly at the trees. “I killed him.”
Alex frowned. Clearly, she was not feeling better. He reached over and grabbed the reins of her horse, stopping them both.
Sophie groaned. “Not this again.”
He ignored that. “No one died to night, Sophie.”
She stared at him in bewilderment for a moment. Then shook her head as if to clear it and began babbling. “What? Are you sure? Because…you…and my knife…and then he—”
Alex cut her off before she confused the both of them. “Your knife caught him in the arm. He fell into the window and it knocked him out.”
“You’re certain?”
“Absolutely. The first two men I managed to render unconscious, the third you hit with your knife, and the fourth took the bullet in the leg, and I knocked him out afterward.”
The implications of what he was telling began to seep in. “No one died,” she said slowly.
“Nary a one,” Alex replied, immensely relived to see the light returning to her eyes. He couldn’t see it very well in the semidarkness of early morning, but he knew, knew by the sound of her voice, it was there. “In fact,” he continued, “you may very well have saved the last man’s life. I had intended to aim his head at the bullet.”
“I saved his life,” Sophie repeated, smiling now and sitting a little straighter in the saddle.
“Little as he deserved it, yes, you did.”
“No one died,” she repeated yet again. She couldn’t help it. It felt so good to say it, so good to hear it. Maybe too good….
“I heard a scream,” she said quickly. “When you went to get the horses.”
Alex’s expression darkened. “Ah yes, the boy they left behind to watch the horses. Lad couldn’t have been more than ten. I was soundly tempted to take him over my knee. You needn’t worry. I frightened him into submission merely by showing up. He very nearly tied himself up for me.”
“Thank God.” She’d done it, then. She’d conquered death this night. Not one of those men had died. Not one. Which meant…Dear God, which meant—
“Should we be sitting here? They’re likely to wake up at any moment—”
“Relax, Sophie,” Alex said, but let go of her reins and allowed the horses to begin moving. “I cut the straps on their saddles and scattered the horses. If they’re chasing us, which I doubt, they’re doing it on foot.”
Dawn came and went well before they reached London. By the time they reached William’s house, the sun had worked its way fully up, and Alex had worked himself into a full fury.
The lies William had told them both had put Sophie in danger. She could have been hurt, or killed, or God only knew what else. The thought was enough to make him see red.
He pounded loudly on the front door.
Sophie shot him a nervous glance. “Maybe we should wait—”
“No. We finish this now.”
The door opened and a young man appeared.
“Your Grace.”
Alex grabbed Sophie’s hand and barreled past the youth and into the front foyer.
“Where is he, Sallings?” Alex demanded.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Sophie offered.
“Mr. Fletcher is in his study, but…wait, please, Your Grace, not again!”
Sophie allowed herself to be dragged down the hall, followed closely by the young man.
“He’s rather young for a butler,” she commented to Alex.
“He isn’t the butler,” Alex answered. “There is his butler.”
Sophie gaped at the man coming down the hall. “That’s my butler!”
“Yes, I know.” Alex stopped before a set of French doors. He dropped her hand, gripped the handles, and pushed the doors wide open.
“William!” Alex roared.
“Ah, Alex, my boy.”
“Sophie, dear.”
“Mrs. Summers!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Fletcher, sir.”
“His Grace, the Duke of Rockeforte!”
And then all hell broke loose.
Twenty-eight
Alex let mayhem reign for about two minutes. It seemed fitting in his mood, and he rather felt Sophie had the right to rage a bit. Of them all, she had been the most ill-used.
Eventually, however, he grew impatient to find out just how ill-used she had been. That, and she had begun sliding in and out of a foreign language. Insults were always less fun when you couldn’t understand them.
“Sallings!” he snapped in his best officer’s voice. “You’re dismissed!” Then, “James!” he barked in his best ducal voice. “Bring tea for the ladies and make sure we are not disturbed.” And finally, “Sophie,” he cajoled in his best husband-to-be voice. “Sit down, love, and let us get some answers.”
He turned to Mrs. Summers, intending to use his best future-employer voice but stopped short at the raising of one supercilious eyebrow.
“Do not attempt it, young man,” she warned in her best governess voice. “I have seen the best and the worst this world has to offer, and you are neither so terrible nor sufficiently wonderful as to hold me in your awe.”
Feeling uncomfortably like a chastised boy, Alex held his tongue and offered her a chair in a gesture of truce.
Mrs. Summers nodded regally and accepted the seat. “Tea would be lovely. Thank you for thinking of it.”
“My pleasure,” Alex ground out. “Now,” he declared turning to William, who had wisely taken his own seat, “start explaining.”
“It’s a bit of a long story actually,” William hedged.
“Shorten it,” Alex advised grimly.
William took the hint. “Right. Well the shortest possible version, I suppose, would be to say…,” he took a fortifying breath. “There was not originally a suspected plot of treason. You were both led into what was intented only as a ruse in order that I might fulfill a deathbed promise I made to Alex’s father.” His words tumbled out like a well-rehearsed speech—which, as it happened, it was.
“What promise?” Alex demanded.
“Your father was a spy?” Sophie asked in surprise.
“I’ll explain later,” Alex assured her.
“They prefer ‘agent,’ dear,” Mrs. Summers commented.
William slumped in his chair. His plan for revealing the truth hadn’t gotten any further than that last little recitation. The rest he would have to improvise. William hated improvising.
“What promise?” Alex repeated. “I thought you told me everything my father said the night he died.”
“I did, save the final vow I made, and to be honest, he fairly tricked me into it. I promised to make certain you as well as several others…” and at this point the head of the war office actually blushed a little, “find love.”
“What?” Both Alex and Sophie cried at the same time.
“Yes, well, that was very near to my own reaction, I assure you. But a promise is a promise, especially one made to a friend on his deathbed. He wished for his son the happiness he had with his beloved Anna.”
“My mother,” Alex explained to Sophie before returning his attention to William. “You still have a good deal of explaining to do.”
William nodded. “For many years, I watched you flit from actress to opera singer without evincing the slightest interest in a woman of good breeding. Had you shown a particular preference for one of your paramours, I might have searched for a woman for you amongst the demimonde—I agreed to help you find love after all, not a wife—but you went through mistresses the way some dandies go through cravats…Terribly sorry, Sophie dear.”
Sophie shrugged. “I’ve already heard the gossip. Don’t censure yourself on my account.”
“So you took it upon yourself to find me a life mate, is that it?” Alex asked incredulously.
William nodded.
“Why Sophie?” he asked, then, feeling it might be wise, quickly added, “Not that I oppose your choice.”
“Mary…that is, Mrs. Summers, gave me the idea. You wouldn’t remember me, Sophie, but I met you the day Mary arrived at Whitefield to be your governess. I was responsible for her obtaining the position.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“No, no, quite all right. You were very young and, if I recall correctly, rather preoccupied with several stitches you received on your arm from a dog bite. You were quite proud of them.”
Sophie smiled at that. “Harry. We became the best of friends after that little misunderstanding. But how is it you knew Mrs. Summers?”
“She and I met in this very office.”
Sophie whirled on her companion. “You’re a spy?”
“Of course not, dear. Espionage is not a suitable occupation for a lady,” she said pointedly. “My husband, however—”
“You said your husband died in the Terror,” Sophie said accusingly.
“And so he did. His job required he spend a considerable amount of time in Louis’ court. To the mob, he was just another courtier.”
“Oh,” Sophie murmured. “I’m terribly sorry.”
“It’s quite all right. It was a long time ago, and William was a great support to me. Even convincing your father—an old Eton friend of his, before you ask—to hire a governess with no experience. We have kept in contact for years.”
“She often wrote to me of your adventures,” William said with a smile. “She was concerned you would not be able to find a respectable husband, one you would not drive to distraction within a year. I, in turn, was worried I would not be able to find a young lady who could hold Alex’s interest for more than a fortnight. Mary suggested the two of you might suit.”
Sophie considered that for moment, then said, “I can understand the rationale of that, I suppose, but why the elaborate ruse? Why not simply introduce us in the normal manner, at a ball or a dinner?”
William shook his head. “Mary and I agreed that both of you were too stubborn to take kindly to blatant matchmaking. You would have been bored by the formalities and indignant over the mechanisms. So I formulated an alternate means of bringing the two of you together.”
“I’m still indignant,” Alex pointed out. “Sophie?”
“Oh, rather.”
“Yes, but it’s too late, isn’t it?” Mrs. Summers stated pertly. “You’re already in love.”
Sophie had no intention of having a discussion on that theme. “But why lead me to believe I was working for the Prince Regent?” she asked. “Why not team us together at the start?”
William looked at Alex. “If I had suggested you look into a French conspiracy with a young woman of no experience, who didn’t speak French—”
“I would have been suspicious,” Alex admitted reluctantly.
“There you go,” William declared. “The plan was to have Alex catch you, Sophie, in the act of sneaking—”
“Why all the other gentlemen?” Sophie demanded. “You could have sent me to spy on Alex alone and left everyone else out of this. For that matter, you could have left me out of it. All you needed, apparently, was for Alex to seek me out.”
Sophie looked to William for an answer. William looked to Mrs. Summers. And Mrs. Summers, very pointedly, did not look at Sophie when she said, “You needed something to do.”
“What does that mean?”
Mrs. Summers heaved a dramatic sigh. “Really, dear, how long do you suppose you would have been content running about town, playing the debutante?”
“I—”
“You would have had us both packed and headed for parts unknown within days, unless you were given something to keep you occupied…and in town.”
“That is not true!” Sophie declared firmly. “Not necessarily,” she added, a little less firmly. “Oh, very well,” she concluded, in defeat. “You’re probably right.”
Alex leaned over and patted her knee, but wisely kept his opinion to himself. “Prinny has nothing to do with this, has he?” he asked William.
“Not a thing,” William replied.
“Why didn’t you simply send me to spy on Alex?” Sophie asked, still hopelessly confused.
This time, Mrs. Summers looked to William, who very pointedly looked at Alex. “It was assumed that Alex would catch you too quickly. It was assumed he would catch you crawling in and out of people’s homes eventually, of course, but by then it would be clear whether or not you would suit. Perhaps you’d join forces against Loudor and—”
Alex coughed into his fist uncomfortably.
“My cousin,” Sophie murmured. “He isn’t a Napoleon sympathizer then, is he?”
“No,” William responded. “Most of the men the two of you were investigating were never suspected of treason. They are either old school chums of mine or they owed me a favor or two. The exception would be Lord Heransly, whose involvement in this has come as a late development. As for Lord Loudor, his love for the French doesn’t extend past his brandy and the cut of his waistcoat. His interest in Whitefield, however, was very real.”
“Oh.” Sophie felt a wash of disappointment come over her. For a moment, she had hoped Loudor could be redeemed. She didn’t have enough family left not to grab at the chance to keep a cousin.
Alex gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I assume he was responsible for the men who attacked us last night.”
William nodded. “Whit and I went to your town house yesterday, Sophie, and found the documents detailing the conditions of Whitefield’s transfer—documents you should not have kept to yourself, by the way. We proceeded to Loudor’s last night to confront him with that evidence. That, along with your disappearance, was enough to have me worried. We found him in the midst of a rather heated argument with your failed kidnappers—rather reasonable chaps as it happens. Loudor decided he would rather give us a full confession than spend further time in their company. They sent their apologies, by the way, Sophie. Seems they have large families and were rather desperate—”
“They hit her over the head!” Alex roared.
“Yes, well, I said they were reasonable, not clever. At any rate,” William continued, wisely changing the subject “Loudor admitted to becoming quite nervous as your popularity with several gentlemen began to grow. He sent your erstwhile kidnappers to the Thurston house party with instructions to keep you hidden away until time ran out for you to take a husband and cancel the contract on Whitefield.”
“They followed me to London,” Sophie guessed.
“Well, they really more chased you to London, as it took them a bit of time to realize you’d snuck away. Found you walking just by your house and opted to abduct you inside.”
“But Alex and I escaped.”
“So you did. Unfortunately, you went to Whitefield, which was the original destination for your captivity.”
“Yes, that would be my luck,” Sophie muttered.
Alex just growled.
“And that,” William continued saying, “is where you were attacked by the group of men Lord Heransly insisted on hiring to follow the first two men. They had instructions to, shall we say, finalize matters should such extreme measures become necessary.”
Sophie gulped.
Alex growled louder.
“Wh
ere is my cousin now?” Sophie asked.
“On his way to Australia.”
“I see. But I found entries in Lord Forent’s ledger that matched the sums stolen from Whitefield, They were attributed to his son, Lord Heransly.”
“Ah, yes. I was curious myself as to how Loudor could steal so much money and have so little to show for it. Lord Heransly held a great many of your cousin’s vowels, you see, and Heransly owed his father a great deal of money for the support of numerous by-blows. The earl reminded his son the estate was entailed, but not the funds to sustain it. Its worth is at least four times that of Whitefield, no offense, my dear.”
“None taken.”
“But—and this is the one case in which treason has been committed—Heransly quickly tired of delivering the funds straight from Loudor to his father. With a few clever excuses, he held back some of the payments and used them to finance a smuggling adventure. The arms and information sort, I’m afraid.”
“You didn’t know of this?” Alex inquired.
“The operation, as I said earlier, was a recent development. Hernasly’s ship hadn’t yet made its maiden voyage. Thanks to the two of you, it never will. He too is being packed off to Australia.”
“Oh…good.” Really, what else could she say? Except maybe, “Your plan is the single most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”
Mrs. Summers sniffed and took a sip of tea. “I told you it was a bit much, William. Too many details, you know.”
Insulted, William straightened in his seat. “Worked, didn’t it? God is in the details, after all.”
“It’s a wonder we aren’t overrun with the French,” Sophie muttered.
“Are there any other questions?” William asked, ignoring her completely, and with the clear hope that his job was now done.
Sophie effectively squashed that hope. “What of the letters I found in Lord Calmaton’s study?”
William’s face suddenly broke into a large grin. “It would seem that my dear friend Richard is a talented poet with a romantic bent. The letters were submissions to the small but rather popular publication, Le Journal de Prosateur. He was quite delightfully embarrassed when I returned them to him.”
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