Sophia peered up at the gray, cloudy sky. The air held a hint of rain, but there was a chance that the light wind would blow the storm clouds away. With the help of the walking stick, she crossed the back garden and headed for the stables.
She almost stumbled as she realized that Lucy had not told her the name of the groom. Was it important? Indecision slowed her pace. Had Stephan thought to warn the stable not to prepare a carriage for her? Mayhap not. Her brother had a bad habit of underestimating his younger sister. With Henry guarding her, Stephan would not have considered that Sophia might leave her bedchamber, let alone slip out of the house.
Her heart was pounding in her throat as she observed from a distance two grooms stroll into the stable. Lucy was right. Sophia had no time to spare with this nonsense. If she hoped to ride to Fanny’s house, she needed to walk into the stable and ask for her horse.
A large gloved hand covered her mouth, smothering Sophia’s scream. Rough hands dragged her off the pebbled path and into the foliage. Sophia raised her walking stick and stabbed the sharp point into her attacker’s foreleg.
“Bloodthirsty wench!” Reign growled in her ear. “And here I thought you needed rescuing.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sophia would have fallen to her knees if Reign had not caught her up into his arms. Her head lolled back against his arm as she stared at him with wonderment.
“Reign, I cannot believe it is you!”
He savored the caress of her hand against his cheek.
“How did you find me? Did Lucy send you?”
“Who the devil is Lucy?”
Sophia frowned. “My maid. If you did not—Reign, why are you here?”
“I already told you. I came to rescue you.” He grinned down at her stunned expression. “Though I’m beginning to regret it now that you’ve put a hole in my leg with your walking stick.”
“I-I thought you were Stephan.”
Reign suddenly had the urge to hit something. Ravenshaw would do. “Where is he?”
“I do not know. Lucy said that he left the house. I assume to meet with Lord Mackney. Henry is inside, supposedly watching my bedchamber door.”
His eyebrows rose in an inquiring fashion. “Supposedly?”
Sophia shrugged. “Henry was rather neglectful in his duties. Lucy was able to unlock the door so I could slip out of the house.” Now that she had recovered from her fright, she was able to stand without his support.
The bastard had locked Sophia in her room.
Reign was tempted to stroll into the house and seek out young Henry. Northam was not Ravenshaw, but he clearly had been unwilling to stand against his older brother.
“Where were you heading?”
Sophia peeked around the large bush to make certain that they had not been overheard. “The stables. Lucy told me that one of the grooms had readied a horse. I was going to Fanny’s from there.”
Reign gave her a look of disbelief. The notion of Sophia riding a horse down the streets of London was terrifying. “Are you mad? How were you going to manage that?”
Her lower lip protruded slightly as his insult struck its mark. “I will have you know that I am capable of riding a horse.”
“In the country, perhaps, when you only have to worry about trees and grazing sheep,” Reign said, letting himself get momentarily distracted by Sophia’s harebrained plan. “The London streets are no place for an inexperienced, half-blind lady on horseback. You would have likely broken your foolish neck, and I want to throttle you myself for even contemplating such a reckless challenge.”
Sophia’s lip quivered. “I was desperate,” she said simply, her beautiful blue-green eyes filling with tears.
Hell. Reign felt like a brute for lecturing her after everything she had been through. Without waiting for an invitation, he gathered her into his arms and hugged her. “I know.” His only excuse was everything he had set into motion since Frost had told him about Ravenshaw’s plan to marry Sophia off to Lord Mackney.
After years of burying his feelings, Sophia had slipped under his skin and triggered all his protective instincts. If Ravenshaw had been unlucky enough to stumble upon them, Reign would have gladly murdered the man and not felt a twinge of regret. It was a sobering realization that he had more in common with his sire than he thought.
“I still do not understand,” Sophia said, banishing his dark thoughts. She stepped out of his arms. “If Lucy did not send for you, then why are you here?”
Reign rubbed the back of his neck. He suspected that Sophia was going to be difficult when she heard his plan. “Is it not obvious? I have come to collect my bride.”
Sophia was speechless.
Lord Rainecourt was proposing to marry her?
Impossible.
From what she had learned about his first marriage, it had been a disastrous affair of the heart that had ended with the countess’s untimely death. Reign himself had told her that he had no desire to bind himself to another lady.
No, Sophia thought, she had misunderstood him.
What words rhyme with bride? Pride . . . guide . . . died?
Reign took advantage of her silence and led her away from the stables toward the street. With his arm gallantly hooked through hers, they strolled down the street to the awaiting coach. At their approach, the coachman scrambled down from his perch. He opened the door and tipped his hat.
“A lovely day, is it not, milady?”
Sophia mutely stared in horror at the coachman as if he had sprouted horns from his forehead.
Reign placed his hand on the small of her back as he helped her ascend the steps of his private coach. Behind her, he addressed the servant. “We have tarried here long enough. Let us be off.”
“Very good, milord.”
She waited until the earl settled in next to her. “Reign, I must have misunderstood. Did you say that you were collecting your, uh, bride?”
A small cynical smile curled the corners of his mouth. “There is nothing wrong with your hearing, Sophia.”
“Me?” Her voice squeaked, forcing her to clear her throat. “I do not understand any of this, my lord. How did you learn of Lord Mackney’s offer of marriage? Were you at the club?”
Reign patted her hand in a soothing manner. Sophia glanced down at their entangled fingers, unaware that she had reached for his hand. “I was not at the Golden Stag, but several of my friends were.”
Dismayed, Sophia’s shoulders slumped. “So everyone knows? Then you might as well return me to the town house. I cannot defy Stephan so publicly.”
“Giving up so easily?” he taunted softly.
Sophia straightened and glared at him as Reign had hoped that she would. “No! Can you not see that I have no choice? I had hoped my brother’s exchange with Lord Mackney was a private one. I should have known Stephan would have insisted on witnesses so Lord Mackney could not withdraw the offer without fearing reproach. With so many people privy to the earl’s offer and my brother’s consent, I see no other choice but to yield to Stephan’s wishes.”
Reign shook his head. “No. I doubt that Mackney’s conversation with your brother is common knowledge, and I will make certain it remains that way. Frost just has a unique skill of collecting elusive information.”
“Frost . . . You are referring to Lord Chillingsworth?”
Reign seemed to sense her unspoken question, and he gave her hand a friendly squeeze. “Do not fret about Frost. He will hold his tongue, or deal with me.”
Sophia blinked at the controlled violence in Reign’s promise. She suspected very few people dared to risk his ire. “It is not as simple as soothing Lord Mackney’s injured feelings and my brother’s temper. Stephan needs—”
“Ravenshaw will have to figure out another way to recover from his bad investments, Sophia,” Reign said, sounding like he did not give a farthing about her brother’s fate. “If he is set on marriage, then he can hunt for an heiress.”
She shifted in her seat so her knees brus
hed against his as the coach wobbled down the street. “You think a betrothal will stop my brother?”
Sophia scowled, wishing the interior of the coach were not so dim. Reign’s face was cast in shadows that seemed to blend with the ones she carried with her.
“A betrothal? Not at all. Ravenshaw would merely reclaim you,” Reign said, presenting her with his profile. “What I am offering is marriage. I had to call in many favors, some that were not even mine to claim, and I have secured a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury. With your consent, we shall be married this afternoon.”
Sophia brought her hand to her breast, overwhelmed by Reign’s generous offer. “You told me that you would never marry again.”
A particularly bone-shaking jostle of the coach’s compartment sent her colliding against Reign as the wheels dropped into a worn rut in the road. Sophia clutched at his dark blue frock coat that matched his eyes, and stared up into his handsome face. She felt his arms encircle her as his mouth hovered inches from her.
“You need a husband, Sophia . . . but not a bounder like Mackney,” he amended. Reign teased her lips with his as he huskily whispered, “Allow me to protect you.”
“And my brothers?”
Reign snorted in derision. “You are one-and-twenty, Sophia, and of legal age. Ravenshaw cannot have our marriage annulled, and I would welcome the challenge if he tried.”
Sophia inhaled, taking the lovely masculine scent of him into her lungs. She would be lying if she denied that she was tempted. Reign had intrigued her almost from the beginning. Their first kiss on Lord and Lady Harper’s garden terrace was something she had often dwelled upon in quiet moments.
He obviously felt the same connection, though she suspected that Lord Mackney’s offer of marriage had spurred Reign to propose instead of the noble, loftier sentiment of love. “I would be selfish to agree.”
“You would be foolish to deny me!”
Now she had angered him or pricked his pride. “Reign,” she said, the muscles in her throat constricting with emotion. “This marriage . . . what would you get out of it?”
“This.” Reign lowered his head and crushed his mouth over hers. The kiss was not of a tender suitor intent on wooing his love. Reign’s kiss was born of frustration, and a longing Sophia could not comprehend. She allowed her left palm the luxury of sliding up Reign’s chest to his shoulder. The coach bounced, and she clung to him, yielding to his drugging caresses and the hard lines of his body.
If Sophia consented, Reign would be her husband. A man like Reign would not be satisfied with kisses. He would lay claim to her body, over and over, a lifetime of living a loving born of his generous sacrifice.
Would it be enough?
Yes, her heart whispered.
Reign felt the subtle change in Sophia as her body accepted his claim even if her mind was still conflicted. His lips parted, and he softened the kiss, drinking her in. Suddenly her corset seemed too tight and she pulled away from his mouth, gasping to catch her breath.
“Sophia?”
With a hooded glance, she asked, “Tell me, Reign, what do you expect in a wife?”
“Faithfulness and respect,” he said without hesitation. “A wife who will willingly share my bed and bear my children.”
Sophia nodded. She had already concluded that she would be giving Reign what Stephan thought he could take. “And love?”
Reign placed his large hands over hers. He gently moved her hands from his chest and placed them on her lap. “Poetic drivel. A frivolous sentiment. I learned from my first marriage that love creates false expectations in those it infects. I loved my first wife, and both Beatrice and I were unhappy for my weakness. No, Sophia, I will not demand your love, nor offer you it in return. I will give you my protection, faithfulness, friendship, and loyalty. I swear, I will dedicate my life to ensuring that you are content in our marriage.”
His words were not the sort a young miss yearned for from her ardent suitor. Nevertheless, Lord Mackney was her brother’s choice while Reign was hers.
Despite her tender smile, she wiped away a wistful tear from her cheek. “You honor me, my lord. However, I cannot allow you to sacrifice yourself on the marriage altar for my sake.”
Sophia visibly braced for Reign’s temper, but he surprised her by laughing.
“Very well, I see desperate measures are required.”
“Desperate measures?” Sophia echoed, wary of Reign’s amusement. “What do you intend to do?”
“Live up to my reputation,” Reign said, lightly pressing a kiss to her cold lips. “Sophia, my dear lady, I fully intend to ruin you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Perhaps, Reign silently mused, it had been too much to hope that his outrageous announcement would have left Sophia speechless so that he could have a few moments to contemplate his remaining hours as an unmarried man.
Sophia was unwilling to appreciate the humor of their situation.
The future Countess of Rainecourt had no intention of following him meekly to the marriage altar. Reign took Sophia’s hand and helped her descend from their coach. He gave her an equal measure of flattery and threats to convince her to walk through Lord and Lady Bramsbury’s front door. Reign was afraid that if he released Sophia’s hand, she might be foolish enough to flee into the street.
“You cannot be serious,” Sophia hissed under her breath after they had paid their respects to their host and hostess, and had moved out of earshot. “Are you aware that I slept in my dress last evening because Stephan refused to allow Lucy to attend me?”
Reign bit his inner cheek to keep from grinning. Poor Sophia sounded as if she were committing a grievous sin by wearing a slightly wrinkled dress.
“You look delightfully rumpled, my dear.” He nodded to people that he knew, pointedly ignoring any attempts to engage him in conversation as he escorted Sophia through the drawing room and library and outdoors.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, not softening her annoyance.
Reign brought Sophia’s hand up to his lips and kissed it. He deliberately lingered over the task, knowing they were being observed by the other guests.
“Reign?” Sophia pleaded huskily, unaware that her anxiety and exhaustion made her sound restless for her lover’s touch.
Only Reign knew the truth.
“Where—?”
Reign placed his hand on Sophia’s back as he guided her toward the steps. “Where all young lovers prefer to tarry . . . the lower terrace.”
Sophia could not resist glancing back at Lord and Lady Bramsbury’s lovely house. Her vision swirled as she turned her head so she gave up and concentrated on the ground in front of her.
“You are aware that it is afternoon.”
“The sun has not escaped my notice.” Reign pointed at something in the distance. “That spot over there should suit us nicely.”
The crunch of gravel gave way to the soft padding of cut grass.
“Everyone is probably watching us,” Sophia grumbled, clearly not appreciating the simplicity of her ruination. “You were barely civil to our host and hostess.”
“No one expects the Devil of Rainecourt to be civil.”
Reign tugged her toward the two shrubs that had caught his eye.
Sophia rolled her eyes heavenward. “I suspect you and your friends relish your notoriety too much to surrender it willingly.”
“And spoil our fun?” he asked in feigned outrage. “Perish the thought, my lady!”
Reign nudged Sophia until he was satisfied that their discreet audience could still see them even though they were standing in front of the waist-high shrubs.
“Take a step closer.”
For the first time since he caught her as she headed toward Ravenshaw’s stables, Reign noted a hint of a smile forming on Sophia’s full lips. “Hmm . . . you seem to be quite the expert when it comes to ruining a lady’s reputation.”
Matching her lightening mood, he said, “Some tasks are mo
re pleasurable than others.”
Her blue-green eyes blazed like gems in the sunlight. “Have we dallied on the lower terrace long enough? Will Lord Mackney view me as a wanton lady with a rather unsavory acquaintance with one particular Lord of Vice?”
Sophia allowed him to guide her hands until he had positioned them on the sides of his waist.
“Soon,” he promised as he lowered his head to her parted lips. “By the time we bid farewell to our host and hostess, the gossips will guarantee that Mackney will be unable to forgive your wicked nature, my lady.”
Reign was certain their audience above saw exactly what he had staged for their benefit: two lovers so caught up in each other that they had forgotten to be discreet.
Sophia did not resist his kiss. Her lips softened beneath his as he kindled a passionate response from her. He felt her fingers dig into his waist. Reign willed himself not to respond to the siren call of her body.
While he had brought Sophia to Lord and Lady Bramsbury’s house for the purpose of despoiling her under the speculative gaze of the ton, Reign had no intention of making love to Sophia under the shrubbery.
Appearances would suffice.
Reign coaxed Sophia to rotate 180 degrees before he circled her waist and lowered them down on the grass so they disappeared from view. He pulled back and admired her well-kissed mouth.
Sophia scowled up at him. “Good heavens, Reign, get off me! How ever will I explain the grass stains on my skirt?”
“Trust me, my dear lady, no explanation will be necessary.” She was adorable when she was vexed with him. He leaned closer and kissed the tip of her nose. “The bits of grass on our clothes will seal our fate.”
“Reign must be addled to contemplate getting leg-shackled to Ravenshaw’s sister.”
Alexius Braverton, Marquess of Sinclair, watched from one of Reign’s library windows as his wife was conversing with Lady Frances. At Reign’s request, he and his wife had called on Lady Sophia’s dear friend and brought her to the house for the wedding. His friend had hoped to put his future bride at ease by including one of her friends.
Till Dawn with the Devil Page 10