She walked down the steps and returned to the side garden, glancing at the windows. Unwilling to give up, she eased past a hedge to move closer to the window.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
Heart hammering, she peeked into the room but the glare from the glass hid the interior. She cupped her hand around her eyes. Now, she could see what looked to be a drawing room.
She shifted to get a better view, rising to her toes. Her breath stopped as she caught sight of Elliott. He sat in a wing-back chair, visiting with an attractive woman.
Dropping quickly, she closed her eyes for a moment, praying the woman wasn’t his mistress. The idea of him holding the stranger the same way he’d held her had her blinking back tears.
Sophia stayed where she was for a moment, wondering if he’d seen her. She tried to gather her wits and swallow her hurt and determine what to do next.
This had been a terrible mistake. She knew nothing more than when she’d left the house earlier.
Worse, if Elliott had seen her, how could she possibly explain herself?
~*~
Elliott stilled, unable to believe his eyes. That couldn’t have been Sophia peering in. Not his Sophia.
“I fear the news is true,” Mrs. Lawrence continued, with Elliott hardly listening. “Two of my girls heard it directly from the Russian diplomats.”
“That is alarming indeed.” He’d thought that information coming from Mrs. Lawrence would be the worst news he’d receive today.
But he’d been wrong.
The sight of Sophia staring at him through the window was far worse for his heart than the brothel madam’s words.
He stared at the window, trying to process how she’d come to be here and why.
He debated whether to continue the conversation with Mrs. Lawrence or pursue Sophia, only to realize there was no debate.
“Is something amiss, my lord?”
“Please accept my apologies. I believe I forgot something.” He rose, hoping the woman wouldn’t take affront to his abrupt departure.
“Does it have anything to do with the attractive young lady peering in my window?”
Elliott clenched his jaw. Trust Mrs. Lawrence not to let anything slip past her. She ran the brothel like a captain ran a ship, with efficiency and high expectations.
“Yes, it does. I believe she is looking for me.”
“Would you like to invite her in?” Mrs. Lawrence raised a brow, an amused smile tilting her lips. “I believe I would enjoy meeting her.”
Elliott cursed under his breath. The last thing he wanted was his personal life to collide with his professional one. Though he rather liked Mrs. Lawrence, that didn’t mean he wanted her to meet Sophia.
Instead of giving voice to his thoughts, he offered an apologetic smile. “I have no doubt she would enjoy meeting you as well, but perhaps another time.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Thank you for the information. As always, please send word if you discover additional details.”
“Of course.”
He rushed out the rear door and through the garden to the window, hoping Sophia hadn’t disappeared. Well aware Mrs. Lawrence was no doubt watching, he slowed his steps as he neared the window, but there was no sign of Sophia.
“Sophia?” he called quietly. The random pattern of the tall hedges provided too many hiding places.
A rustle in the foliage just ahead had him moving quicker.
“Sophia.”
“Elliott.” Her tone held an odd combination of surprise and dismay.
“Were you expecting someone else?” The anger filling him as he found her, crouching by the hedge, took him aback.
“Well, no, but—”
He lifted her to stand before him, grimacing from the pain of his knife wound. A client of the brothel he’d been visiting had gotten angry at his line of questioning. The injury was a physical reminder of the danger in which he was involved.
“What are you doing here?”
“I—I wanted to know where you were going.” She lifted her veil, those hazel eyes imploring him to understand. “I spoke to that man at the back door but—”
His angry growl stopped whatever explanation she’d been offering. His heart pounded as his anger grew. The man to whom she referred was one of Mrs. Lawrence’s guards. Frank had spent years in prison for murder. Elliott knew of at least three other lives he’d taken since he’d been released. The man was a brute, and Elliott was horrified to think he’d been anywhere near Sophia.
He wanted to shake her for the risk she’d taken. If only she realized she was outside a brothel and had spoken to a murderer. “Why did you follow me?”
Her lips twisted and for a moment, he didn’t think she was going to tell him. “I wanted to know where you go every day.”
He shook his head and guided her toward the gate. “We are not having this discussion here.” The sooner he got Sophia away, the better. Hadn’t he known from the beginning that her presence in his home would only cause trouble?
“Whose house is this?” she asked, as she glanced back, tugging her arm, but he held tight.
“No one’s.” A deep breath did little to calm him.
“Then why were you here?”
They reached his carriage and the driver moved to open the door but Elliott waved him back.
Ignoring Sophia’s question, Elliott assisted her inside then leaned against the opening. “Sophia, you cannot follow me ever again. It’s too dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Her alarm made him realize his mistake over his word choice too late. “You were involved in a knife fight then tell me you’re in danger again. What is happening, Elliott?”
He glanced away before he was tempted to tell her the truth. The only thing that mattered was her safety. His efforts to make her uncomfortable by playing the rogue had failed miserably. But her actions today had proven that he needed her gone, away from him and his terrible, imbalanced life of lies and deceit.
Besides, the man she was coming to care for didn’t exist.
“Was that woman your mistress?” Sophia whispered.
He could think of but one way to force her to stay away from him. If only he could explain that this was far more painful for him than for her.
“Yes,” he said as he braced himself. “That was Mrs. Lawrence, and she’s my mistress. She knows more about pleasing a man than you will ever learn.”
He gritted his teeth and his belly burned with disgust for his lie, but he couldn’t think of any other way to keep Sophia away from him.
Tears filled her eyes as she stared at him.
“I don’t understand what you think our relationship is, Miss Markham,” he continued. “You are my grandmother’s companion and have no business following me around London. I don’t appreciate it.”
The stunned hurt in her expression squeezed his heart, yet what else could he do? If she followed him again, she might be injured, or worse, killed, and he’d never forgive himself.
“I’ll inform my grandmother that you’ve decided to seek another position at a home more suitable to you.” He forced himself to offer a cold smile. “You’ve known from the start who I am. Wishing doesn’t change a scoundrel to a gentleman. Nor do a few kisses.”
Her tiny gasp made him want to take away her pain with a kiss, tell her how sorry he was, and that he wished things could be different. She’d captured his heart and he didn’t know how he would survive from this moment forward.
“Surely you didn’t think you and I would ever suit.” He shook his head, as though amused at the idea.
Still, Sophia said nothing.
“You need to be gone by the end of the week.” He shut the carriage door and nodded to the driver to go. As he watched it turn the corner and disappear from sight, a coldness filled him, making him wonder if he’d ever be warm again.
Though he knew he’d done the right thing, it didn’t make it easier. Nor did he know how he was going to survive with
out Sophia in his life.
Chapter Ten
Sophia’s tears didn’t stop until the carriage arrived home. Elliott had a mistress. He didn’t want her.
“Surely you didn’t think you and I would ever suit.” The terrible words rang through her mind, over and over.
She never should’ve followed him. As she’d feared, her actions had ruined everything. She’d lost any chance with him. She’d lost her position. She’d lost the countess.
She’d lost her new life.
Never mind that, as Elliott pointed out, there had never been any hope for them. She’d just been too naïve to realize it.
Oh, heavens. What was she to do now?
By the time the carriage drew to a halt and the footman opened the door, Sophia had collected herself. The last thing she wanted was to create a scene in front of the servants. Instead, she focused on her anger at Elliott for having a mistress while he’d been kissing her.
That anger propelled her up the stairs to her room. But hurt quickly returned as anger slipped away. She looked around her room, tears filling her eyes at the thought of leaving.
Tonight, she and the countess were attending a concert. They were in the middle of planning the party. How could she possibly leave?
The Elliott who’d said such hurtful things was a new side of the man she’d grown to care for. Or rather, to love. His harsh words hadn’t changed her feelings. She’d fallen in love with a scoundrel despite all her efforts to the contrary.
Unfortunately, he didn’t feel the same. The truth of that seeped into her bones, making her ache. As she sank onto her bed, wiping tears from her cheeks, his comments returned to haunt her. Those words had been her worst fears come to life. The voice of Aunt Margaret echoed through her thoughts, recriminating her for following in her mother’s footsteps.
Odd how it had only been after she’d asked if the woman was his mistress that his demeanor had changed. What if she hadn’t asked that question? Would he have explained the danger he’d mentioned? How had the conversation turned so quickly to him telling her they didn’t suit and she had to leave?
Once again, an encounter with Elliott left her bewildered and reeling. His words stabbed straight to her heart.
Drawing a shaky breath, she attempted to calm herself. She needed to check on the countess. Soon they’d be preparing for the evening, and the countess was looking forward to the concert.
Sophia refused to mention anything about Elliott dismissing her. He could deliver the news himself.
Her own actions were the only things in her control at this moment. She rose and rinsed her face, hoping to erase the outward signs of her upset. She was determined to make the most of her last few days here, and that started with the concert this evening. She might never have another chance to attend one, certainly not with the countess.
She planted a smile on her face despite the tightness of her cheeks. Then she lifted her chin and walked to the countess’s room, hoping she could make this evening special for both of them.
~*~
Weary to the bone, Elliott entered Prime Minister Gladstone’s waiting area in the Foreign Office building as late afternoon eased to twilight. The rest of his day had been spent checking with as many sources as he could with the hope of discovering where and when the violence Mrs. Lawrence had confirmed would occur.
The who part of the equation had been identified. Dmitry Popov, a Russian anarchist Elliott had met in Paris, was at the heart of the plan. He was a music critic and composer, but of late his political interests had taken precedence over his career.
Popov was determined to make a statement that would capture the attention of not only the Queen and London, but also the world. That meant a prominent building or event, possibly with hundreds of people in attendance.
Yet how could they stop the plan if they didn’t have any further details?
Despite the urgency of the situation and such high stakes, the image of the anguish on Sophia’s face as he’d shut the carriage door gripped his thoughts and refused to let go.
She’d left him no choice other than to force her from his life. Her personal safety mattered far more than either of their feelings. While he knew he’d done the right thing, that didn’t make it any easier. He ached with the loss.
Viscount Rutland rose to greet him. “Aberland. I thought I’d join you for your briefing with the Prime Minister.”
“Excellent.” Elliott appreciated the man’s presence, especially given his own distraction.
Though Rutland spent most of his time in the office and had little field experience, his sharp mind and instincts made his input helpful.
“Perhaps you can assist in making sense of all this,” Elliott said.
“It is a puzzle, isn’t it? The Russian anarchists have done a good job of providing false leads to cause confusion.”
“We have to determine the facts soon, else we will be too late.” Impatience burned in Elliott. He was certain an attack of some sort was imminent. Beyond that, little had been confirmed.
“The prime minister will see you now,” Mr. Lyttelton, Gladstone’s private secretary and nephew, announced as he held open the door for the men.
Gladstone rose from behind his desk to greet them, his lips drawn, a sure sign of his concern. With thinning white hair, sparse mutton chops, and a solemn demeanor, he was an intimidating man.
“My lords,” he said as he nodded. “I hope you come with news. The Queen is as anxious as I am for a report.”
His poor relationship with the Queen was well known. Elliott didn’t envy his position of delivering more bad news.
“Yes and no,” Elliott replied. “Dmitry Popov is planning the attack, but the target and timing remain elusive. Most clues indicate something in the next day or two.”
“My sources point to Popov as well,” Rutland agreed. “I have taken the liberty of putting together a list of events that should draw significant crowds in the next two days with the hope we can cross reference it with the information gathered and narrow the options.” Rutland withdrew a piece of paper from his breast pocket and spread it on Gladstone’s desk.
After several minutes of sharing what each had learned and comparing that to the list, the target soon became clear to Elliott.
“The Royal Albert Hall.” His heart sank. “Popov is a composer and made it clear he thinks the hall is an atrocity.” The very place his grandmother and Sophia were going this evening.
“Surely he isn’t planning something for the concert being held in a few hours?” Rutland appeared horrified at the thought.
“I think that is exactly what he’s doing.” Elliott’s chest was so tight he could hardly breathe.
“That gives us little time,” Gladstone said.
Rutland shook his head. “Destroying the concert hall when it has only been open a few weeks would be a blow not only to London but to the Queen personally.”
“Precisely why he would choose it,” Elliott added. “Hundreds of people, perhaps even thousands, will be in attendance.” His gaze met Gladstone’s then Rutland’s. “Including my grandmother and her companion.”
Gladstone pulled his watch from his vest pocket. “Let us hope we can find a way to stop the attack. I will send word to as many men as I can to aid you.”
“My carriage is outside.” Elliott was already striding toward the door. Despite his efforts to keep his loved ones safe by keeping his position a secret, they were in more danger than he could’ve imagined. His heart raced, his limbs felt heavy, and a thick fog clouded his brain.
“What will we be looking for?” Rutland asked, directly behind him.
Elliott drew a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. Now more than ever, he needed to think and act clearly, but at the moment doing so felt impossible. “My guess would be some type of explosive. Popov has experience with them and it would injure many as well as destroy the concert hall.”
They were soon riding through the crowded streets in Elliott�
�s carriage toward the hall.
“Where would be the logical spot to place the explosives?” Rutland leaned forward, his gaze holding Elliott’s.
His practical questions shifted Elliott’s focus from panic and worry to the task at hand.
The best way for him to protect his grandmother and Sophia was to stop the attack. As impossible as it seemed, he needed to try to set aside his personal fears for their safety and shift his efforts toward halting the terrible plan. Lives were at stake.
“Perhaps under the hall, where the foundation is.” But the hall was a large place. Even with the assistance of the other men who were supposed to join them for the search, chances were slim they would actually locate the explosive, especially since they didn’t know what they were looking for.
“We will find it. Have no worries,” Rutland said, as though sensing his concern. “Your grandmother and her companion will not even realize something was amiss.”
Elliott nodded, appreciating the confident words even if he didn’t believe them.
“The hall was built over Gore House,” Rutland said. “I’m certain you remember Her Majesty laying the foundation stone. That would’ve been in May of 1867.”
“That’s it,” Elliott declared. “What better statement than to put the explosive near the very stone the Queen placed herself?”
“Brilliant. If memory serves, that is under Stalls K, Row 11.”
Rutland’s wealth of information might just save the day. “That is where we shall check first.”
Night fell in full as they crossed the city toward the hall in South Kensington. Elliott prayed they would arrive in time and find a way to stop this madness.
~*~
Sophia alighted from the carriage behind the countess at The Royal Albert Hall. They had enjoyed a delightful dinner at the Chatfield’s, and she was looking forward to the concert. Apparently, they weren’t the only ones as the street was filled with traffic.
She smoothed the skirt of her pale yellow gown, one of the new ones the countess had insisted she have. Sophia had never been overly concerned with fashion, but she liked the cut and color of this one. The matching cloak fit snuggly over the bustle and the fastener was a flower fashioned out of the fabric. The maid had swept her hair into a high chignon but left one long ringlet to trail over her shoulder.
Tempting the Scoundrel (The Seven Curses of London Book 5) Page 10