CHAPTER FOUR
“And what of my reputation, Lord Rainecourt?” Lady Sophia demanded, punctuating her concern by driving the end of her elegant walking stick into paved stone that was laid out on lead.
Reign glanced out, noting that Lord and Lady Harper’s sunken gardens had four tiers, each darker than the last. If he had been the total scoundrel Lady Sophia assumed he was, he would have dragged her down to the final tier where couples dallied with the forbidden.
“So tell me, my lady, why have we never met until this night?” Reign asked, curious about the lady he had practically abducted from the ballroom. “Do I know your family?”
“My family,” Lady Sophia said, stumbling over the words. “My brothers—are protective. I usually do not join them when they come to Town.”
“Because of your eyesight?”
“Not quite,” Lady Sophia hedged, clearly reluctant to discuss her family or the reasons why she had been tucked away in the country.
The lady’s brothers were almost certainly attempting to protect their beautiful sister from being ravished by lusty rakes like him and his friends.
“Perhaps we should return to the ballroom before we are missed?”
Instead, Reign gestured toward an empty stone bench that was positioned beneath a cozy arbor covered in a tangle of grapevines. When Lady Sophia did not move, he belatedly realized that the night probably hindered her limited vision.
He lightly placed his hand on the small of her back and nudged her toward the bench. “There is no sin in taking fresh air into your lungs. With the light of the ballroom in sight, you are quite safe from my baser instincts. Ravishing innocents is best done on the lower levels.”
Lady Sophia gave him an odd glance as she sat down on the bench. Her walking stick was clutched firmly in her hand. Reign suspected she was capable of cracking his thick skull if he misbehaved.
“Is that how you usually spend your evenings . . . ravishing young innocents in the lower bowels of your host’s gardens?”
“Only on Thursdays,” Reign said in a matter-of-fact manner as he settled down next to her on the bench.
“How could you? Why Thurs—?”
Reign chuckled at her horrified expression. “I confess, though teasing you is a delightful amusement, I would not wish to blacken my character beyond what I deserve. In truth, I stay away from innocents and their enterprising mothers.”
Lady Sophia stared off in the distance as she mulled over his confession. “But you are here with me,” she said, turning her head and giving him a curious side glance.
“Should I worry about your mother?”
Lady Sophia hastily turned her face away. “No, my lord. You are quite safe. My mother died when I was a small girl.”
The lady’s dear mother in all probability had died in childbed. It was a common enough tale of female mortality. Still, it had left its mark on Lady Sophia.
“Forgive me . . . I am being rude.”
Again.
Without looking at him, she raised her right hand to silence his apology and nodded.
She had not spoken a single chastising word, and yet Lady Sophia made him feel like a damn bounder.
“I understand your loss. I—my mother died when I was a boy,” Reign said, wondering why he had mentioned his mother to a stranger, especially when she seemed unwilling to discuss her own family. Even under the best of circumstances, he never spoke of his mother.
Lady Sophia seemed equally startled. Reign’s stomach clenched in response to the empathy he saw in her eyes.
“I am sorry for your loss, my lord.”
Frost and Vane would have laughed if they had been eavesdropping on his and Lady Sophia’s conversation. Dead mothers hardly inspired passion in a young lady.
This evening had gone from mildly annoying to an utter farce.
If he had any sense, he should apologize to Lady Sophia for his abominable manners and leave.
And yet, he remained.
Reign did not want to dwell too much on his reasons for straying from his own rules. Lord and Lady Burrard’s presence at the Harpers’ ball might have spurred him on his wicked quest to scandalize the ton, and Enright had led him to Lady Sophia; nevertheless, he remained at the lady’s side because he desired her company.
Lady Sophia was unlike his first wife or the conquests that came after her. At first glance, she seemed so delicate, though she had proven to have a streak of stubbornness bred into her spine. Her pale blond hair, refined slender bones, flawless skin, and large blue-green eyes gave her the appearance that she was touched by the fae as she tried to discern the world around her.
“What do you see?” Reign asked quietly, knowing that it was extremely rude of him to ask.
Lady Sophia did not seem offended by the question, which told him that it was a subject she had addressed often. She lightly bit her lower lip as she stared off into the distance at the light shimmering from the ballroom.
“Think of a bottle filled with oil, water, and warm pitch that shifts and churns as I go about my day,” she said, her eyelids narrowing as she concentrated on the light. “The pitch is black and impenetrable, the oil distorts and blurs, while the water is what anchors me and permits a certain amount of independence.”
To Reign, it sounded like hell. His admiration for Lady Sophia increased as he thought about the chaos in the ballroom, and how she had dealt with his outrageous behavior when he pulled her into his arms and insisted that they dance the waltz. Had he described her as delicate? A weak-spirited creature would have fainted or screamed at his touch. Lady Sophia had the courage of Boudica. Or perhaps she was a poetic incarnation of Atë, the Greek goddess of infatuation and mad impulses. The comparison seemed apt. Lingering at Lady Sophia’s side certainly bordered on recklessness since the longer he remained at the ball, the greater the risk of a confrontation with Burrard and his friends.
Instead of leaving, Reign asked, “Were you born with this affliction?”
Lady Sophia shook her head. “No. There was an incident when I was a child. I took a blow to the head that should have killed me.”
“Christ! What man would strike a child?”
She gave a dainty shrug, seemingly unwilling to satisfy his curiosity. “I was incoherent and feverish for days. When I awoke, I found myself in a world of shadows.”
An unexpected wave of protectiveness rose within him. Where were Lady Sophia’s family and friends? How could they abandon her for their own selfish pleasures and leave her at the mercy of strangers? “How do you bear it?” he asked, silently regretting the thoughtless question.
“How could I not?” Lady Sophia countered; her smile was friendly and guileless.
Reign felt the impact of it like a punch to his temple. Later, when he reflected upon the evening, he would decide that a type of madness had seeped into his brain. Born of instinct, he leaned forward and lightly kissed her. Lady Sophia stiffened as his lips brushed over hers. He swallowed her breathy surprise, and savored the tantalizing sweetness of her soft, yielding lips.
Her walking stick hit the paved stone with a clatter.
“So this is what innocence tastes like,” Reign murmured against her lips, in undisguised wonderment.
“Get your bloody hands off my sister!”
Lady Sophia groaned, clearly recognizing the voice of the angry gentleman.
Reign nipped her lower lip in a playful farewell. “A pity, sweet Lady Sophia,” he whispered into her ear. His fingers lightly caressed the light blue bows on her shoulders, the ones that had caught his eye from across the crowded ballroom. “Your mouth is a tempting treat, one I could have taken pleasure in for hours.”
“Hours?” Lady Sophia soundlessly echoed.
Reign had known that someone was bound to rescue the lady from the Devil of Rainecourt. Ever since he had taken Lady Sophia onto the terrace, he had expected one of his friends to charge through the open doorway and tear him away from the obvious madness that had struck him thi
s evening.
Rough hands seized him by the upper arm and attempted to separate him from Lady Sophia. Reign was pulled to his feet, only because he allowed it. At six feet in height, he had a five-inch advantage over the lady’s brother.
“Stephan . . . no!”
“Sophia, stay out of this,” her brother snapped, barely sparing her a glance. “What are you doing outdoors without a chaperone and with him?”
Reign glared at Lady Sophia. Her guilty expression only fired his temper. He could not believe it. Stephan Northam, Earl of Ravenshaw, was her brother. “Lady Sophia . . . Northam. How wicked of you not to mention your family connections. For you see, I had forgotten the name of the little girl who had managed to survive my father’s brutal attack when her parents had not.”
Lady Sophia glanced warily at her brother before she faced Reign. “When I realized who you were, I did not know how to tell you.”
“Once you realized who Rainecourt was, you should have sought out your friends,” her brother shouted at her. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Why did you leave the ballroom?”
With a snarl curling his upper lip, Reign said, “Do you really want to hear Sophia’s answer, Stephan?” Reign was deliberately provoking the gentleman by using their given names.
Lady Sophia crouched down and retrieved her walking stick. She foolishly walked toward them, positioning herself between the two men who were staring at each other with mutual loathing.
“Leave him alone, Stephan. If you must blame someone, blame me. Lord Rainecourt was unaware of my connection to you or the Northam family. Besides, there is no sin in taking some fresh air after dancing,” she said, restating his earlier words.
“Fresh air?” Ravenshaw sneered. “He was close enough to—”
“To do what exactly?” Lady Sophia glared at her brother and dared him to speak his accusation aloud. She waved a delicate handkerchief like a flag in front of Ravenshaw’s face. “Lord Rainecourt was kind enough to remove an irritant from my eye.”
Despite his annoyance, Reign could not help but admire the lady’s inventiveness. She must have pulled the handkerchief from her reticule when she bent down to collect her walking stick.
Regrettably, Ravenshaw remained unconvinced. “Rainecourt? A gentleman? Not bloody like—”
Lady Sophia was no longer listening. She was distracted by the appearance of another gentleman. “Henry, is that you? Thank goodness! Pray talk some sense into Stephan before he does something foolish.”
Reign raised his brows in a mocking fashion. “It would not be the first time, eh, Stephan?”
The earl’s mouth flattened. “That is Lord Ravenshaw to you, sir!”
He and Lord Ravenshaw had clashed several times over the years. Their most recent encounter occurred when the young earl had solicited membership to Nox. Reign had taken great pleasure in rejecting Ravenshaw’s petition.
His only mistake was that he had forgotten about the younger sister.
“There was an incident when I was a child. I took a blow to the head that should have killed me.”
Reign shut his eyes against the painful realization that his father had struck down the six-year-old Lady Sophia after he had murdered her parents.
“Stephan, be reasonable,” Lady Sophia begged, striving to soothe her brother’s anger. “Nothing untoward has happened.”
Ravenshaw grabbed his sister by the arm and shoved her at his younger brother. “I knew it was a mistake to bring you to London. Take Sophia home, Henry.”
Unlike Ravenshaw, Henry Northam shared his sister’s fair coloring. “Why do I have to be the one?” he whined, unhappy with his role as his sister’s chaperone. “Let her friends return her home.”
“Thank you so much,” Lady Sophia said, shaking off her brother’s hold. “I feel so wanted.”
Reign shifted his stance, half tempted to tell the troublesome lady that if they had dallied longer over their kiss, he would have been able to give her proof that she was truly wanted. The disheartening fact that she was Ravenshaw’s sister kept him silent.
“Do not argue with me,” Ravenshaw said, his voice heavily laced with fury. “Leave us before someone sees you with him.”
“Reign,” Lady Sophia said, struggling against her brother’s hold. “Stephan seeks only to protect me. Please do not hurt him.”
Ravenshaw was so aghast by his sister’s plea that he dropped his guard and turned his back on Reign. It was the earl’s first mistake. The second occurred when he uttered, “Silly chit, since when do I need your protection?” The earl dismissed her and pivoted toward the true source of his ire.
Reign was still angry at Lady Sophia for not revealing their unpleasant connection. Nevertheless, he liked Ravenshaw’s vitriolic tone toward the lady even less.
“Which one bothers you more, Stephan: the notion that we are sharing the same air or the knowledge that Lady Sophia was handling me just fine without your interference?” Reign crossed his arms. “In fact, if you had tarried longer in the ballroom, I would have returned the favor.”
Even someone as thickheaded as Stephan could not miss Reign’s insinuation.
Ravenshaw’s eyes flared before he slammed his fist into Reign’s jaw. Lady Sophia cried out as Reign staggered back a step. He rubbed his injured jaw as he stared at the young earl. There was murderous intent in Ravenshaw’s dark gaze. Earlier, Reign had been looking for an outlet for his frustration with the Burrards. Since Lady Sophia was beyond his reach, her irate brother would suffice.
“Get her out of here,” Reign barked at Henry from over his shoulder. There had been bad blood between him and Ravenshaw since the tragic death of their parents. Reign was not squeamish about shedding a little of it.
“No!” Lady Sophia vigorously fought her brother. “Reign!”
It was a losing battle. The two men were beginning to draw Lord and Lady Harper’s guests. No one seemed to notice her and Henry as the guests pushed by them and formed a small crowd on the terrace.
No one seemed to care who or what had started the argument.
The spectators just wanted to see blood spilled.
Sophia fought the hands that dragged her away from Reign and Stephan. Everyone was talking at once. The noise and pressing bodies were making her light-headed. She was scared for her brother. There was no doubt in her mind who would be the victor if the two men fought. Tears burned beneath her eyelids. This was all her fault. She should have had the courage to reveal her full name, and her notorious connection to his family.
“Sophia!”
Sophia felt Fanny’s gloved fingers on her face. The familiar scent that her friend favored assailed her nose. The two women embraced. It was then that she sensed Griffin quietly standing off to the side.
“Forgive me, Sophia,” Fanny said, drawing back so she could see for herself that her friend was unharmed. “I did not intend to leave you so long. When I finally returned to the alcove to tell you that your brothers had arrived, you were gone. I almost fainted when someone announced that Lord Rainecourt had carried you off into the gardens.”
Sophia wiped the corner of her right eye with her finger. “A ridiculous exaggeration. We stepped out onto the terrace for some fresh air,” she said, determined that no one would learn of the kiss Reign had stolen.
Not even Fanny.
“If Stephan gets trounced by Rainecourt, he’s going to be in a devilish mood,” Henry muttered under his breath. He had always been a little fearful of his older brother, and past beatings had forged his loyalty.
“Then perhaps he should not pick fights with opponents who can soundly trounce him!” she snapped.
Her brother did not know how to respond to her angry retort. “Well, it is best if we get ourselves home.”
Sophia held her chin up as she allowed Henry to escort her through the crowd that had gathered around the doorway and across the ballroom. Reign had been looking for trouble when he pulled her into his arms and danced the waltz. He had found it in sp
ades. By breakfast, everyone would be eagerly chatting about the brawl between Rainecourt and Ravenshaw. It was as if a twisted version of the past was being played out, and there was nothing that Sophia could do to stop it.
CHAPTER FIVE
“You must have been distracted for someone like Ravenshaw to have planted a good one,” Simon Wyndham Jefferes, Marquess of Sainthill, observed from the threshold of one of Nox’s private rooms.
“Your excuse sounds better than mine, Saint.” Reign accepted the damp cloth Nox’s steward, Berus, had prepared the poultice to help bring down the swelling on his left cheek. Suspicious, he sniffed the cloth. “It stinks of oil of elder and beeswax.”
“Among other things,” Berus said, unruffled by the complaint. His lofty position as the Lords of Vice’s steward had afforded him many privileges and given him a unique perspective about his employers. These days, there was little that astounded the servant. “Since you have your friends to coddle you, I will return to my duties downstairs.”
Reign winced as he pressed the cloth to his sore cheek. “Thank you, Berus. You are too good to us.”
The steward sniffed. “Indeed, milord. Best you remember that fact when I demand higher wages.” He shut the door, leaving the gentlemen to their evening.
“So what is your excuse, Reign?” Dare asked, looking up from his cards. He had been born Hugh Wells Mordare, the second son of the Duke of Rhode. Anyone foolish enough to call him “Lord Hugh” never repeated the mistake.
Reign glanced over his shoulder at Dare as he played cards with Frost. “Sentimentality?”
Saint and several others chuckled at the absurd notion.
“It doesn’t wash,” Vincent Bishop, Earl of Chillingsworth, or Frost as he was called, blurted out as he discarded a card. “In situations like this, a pretty wench is always involved.”
Vane and Hunter snickered. A silent exchange passed between the two men as they raised their glasses of brandy and let the sides collide with a distinctive clink. Knowing the pair, they had probably placed a private wager on how swiftly Frost would deduce the details Reign had carefully omitted.
Till Dawn with the Devil Page 4