Charles overbalanced and the gun dropped dangerously close to Blake’s body, but then he was falling. He couldn’t regain his balance, but neither did he let go of her. In a tangle of arms and legs, Sophie fell over Blake’s feet and into Charles’s chest. The impact knocked his hand loose of her head until he could wrap his arm around her and hold the reclaimed gun to her cheek. “That was not smart,” he hissed, spittle flying everywhere.
Blake was on his feet in a second, but stopped at the sight of the pistol pressed to her head.
“Let her go, Charles. This has nothing to do with Sophie. It’s between you and me.”
“Oh, no. There are more players in this game than the three of us. St. Ives has the ear of the King. If I’m to lose my position, then he must lose too.”
“That is why you wouldn’t leave me alone? You were trying to steal me from him?”
“If you were a typical slut, I would have offered you more money than him, but it’s clear you are different. I haven’t yet worked out what motivates you.”
Certainly not money, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. “If you kill us both, Daemon will hunt you down. He won’t rest until he finds you.”
Charles began to laugh again. “I’m counting on it.”
It didn’t make sense. Was he after all three of them for getting in the way of his title or was there more behind his hatred for Daemon? Perhaps he was shooting the messenger, literally. Sophie gulped. The cool hard metal of the gun made her cheek hurt and the rumble of Charles’s laugh at her back made her want to retch. She suddenly felt as though she would turn into an aristocratic lady after all and faint.
The notion held appeal. Since her back was to Charles and he couldn’t see her face, she closed her eyes for a few seconds and then opened them wide. Blake shook his head. She held out her left hand and counted one, two, three and then with a forced groan, she dropped like a sack.
Charles was caught off guard and wasn’t strong enough to hold her up with one hand. For a second his arm tightened painfully about her throat as he cursed but then he was forced to drop her. Sophie hit the ground and rolled away from the maniac. A flash of dark boots filled her vision as Blake jumped over her and slammed his body into Charles’s. The gun flew from his hand to land in the dirt not far from where Sophie tried to catch her breath for a second time. Without hesitation she launched herself at the gun, picked it up in two hands and, aiming it into the sky, pulled the trigger.
* * *
The shot was deafening but it did make Charles pause, obviously waiting for pain. Blake had been in enough hand-to-hand fights to know never to hesitate.
He squeezed his arms around his distant cousin to roll him and started punching. He saw nothing but red that this bastard had held a gun to a woman. To his woman. When pain exploded in his knuckle with a vicious crunch against Charles’s cheek bone, he should have stopped, but how could he? If the bastard got up, he would be a danger to them all again.
Charles gave as good as he got and Blake was surprised. For his sliminess and slight stature, he would have thought the man wouldn’t have much of a fight in him.
Blake took a hit to the chest followed by a flyaway fist to the side of his head that put stars in his eyes. It shook him long enough for Charles to get the upper hand and roll him onto his back. He took more blows to the head but the way they sat, Blake couldn’t get his arms back far enough to swing. His own punches weren’t doing enough damage. Suddenly Charles was gone, the pressure on his chest eased, but his head hurt and his vision darkened. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sophie’s skirts flash.
By the time Blake lurched to his feet, Charles had rearmed himself with a small, but wicked-looking knife.
“Can’t face me like a man?” Blake huffed as he wiped blood from his lip with the back of his dirty hand.
“I’m a duke. I don’t have to fight like a man.”
“You think they aren’t one and the same? Being a duke and a man?” As they swapped words, they moved in circles, their shoes leaving imprints in the mud.
“Only if there are two types of men,” Charles said with a wild swipe.
The time for small talk was over. Blake went to step forward, but at the last minute threw his body left, his hand wrapping around the handle of the knife, around Charles’s fingers to pull on the blade. He pushed his other arm across Charles’s chest but then his leg folded and they went down again. They landed with a thump, with a whoosh of combined breath. Only Charles wore an expression of complete bewilderment.
Both men looked down at the same time, at the hilt sticking out of the chest of the former duke of Blakiston.
Charles drew a shaky breath, coughed once and then twice, his hands rising only to fall by his sides with a soft thud.
Blake scrambled back, back in the direction of Sophie’s screams. Horse’s hooves vibrated against a ground that suddenly seemed so close. Try as he might, he couldn’t right himself. Just as he was about to have a second try, two pairs of hands reached out for him. Sophie’s were soft and warm, Daemon’s large and strong. Then the world darkened until everything was black. He stopped hearing their voices. He could no longer feel their comfort. Even as he thought the thought, he could no longer hear the beating of his own heart.
* * *
Sophie didn’t look away from Blake’s face. She should have said yes. When he’d asked her to marry him, she should have said yes. Why had she hesitated? In the face of losing him, she didn’t care where his intentions were when he asked her to be his wife. Fear of loss did feel a hell of a lot like love. It made her stomach flip-flop and her heart race so hard and fast she thought it likely to burst from her chest. Maybe it was the same way he felt when she disappeared? Twice. Only this time she’d been found safe and sound, and he only had part of the night and the morning to worry for her. Last time he’d had months and even when he knew she was alive, his fear and grief had twisted to anger. It was little wonder the feelings he’d had for her all those years ago hadn’t dried up and turned to hatred.
And he’d said he loved her. Those three little words instilled more shock in her than any other moment that had gone before. In her darkest nightmares and brightest dreams, she had never held out the hope that someone would love her. She’d clung to her ideals, her decisions and choices, and never let anyone get close enough to truly feel for her. The one man she tried to hold at arm’s length, the one man above all others she thought would never forgive her the things she’d done—he was the one to fall in love with her.
Somewhere out there in the heavens was a deity with a twisted smile on his face.
Before Daemon could hoist the still unconscious Blake over the saddle of his horse, Sophie pressed her lips to his and whispered, “I love you.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
As a strange warmth spread over Blake’s body, his limbs felt a little less heavy. He could hear a voice getting louder but could see nothing. He wanted to see her. To know she was real and not a figment of his imagination. He hoped the fact that his head felt as though it would explode meant that he was still alive.
Slowly, so slowly it hurt, he opened his eyes. His vision filled with night dark hair, eyes the bluest of blue twinkling back at him and the scent of apples filling the air.
“Am I dreaming?” he asked, not sure what was happening. Was it heaven that she was there or would it be hell when she walked away? He’d asked her to marry him and she hadn’t said yes.
She hadn’t said no either...
“Does it feel like a dream?”
He nodded. “It’s beautiful like a dream. You’re beautiful.”
She laughed again, the sound calming him, making him smile in return. “Nothing about this day is like a dream.”
Hadn’t she said the opposite only a few minutes ago? Was that a few minutes ago? “What happened, Sophie? Where are we?”
“We’re at Matthew’s house. Charles is dead. It seems there’s a title with your name on it if you want it.”
“And will you be my duchess?” He knew without a doubt he didn’t dream now. He took her hand in his once again and spoke again before she had the chance to. “That day when I asked if you wanted to be a duchess, I had no idea then that you already were one.”
For a moment her face disappeared from his vision and she tried to pull her hand from his. He held on tight. “I know what happened all those years ago.”
“How can you not hate me?”
“I did,” he admitted. She sighed. “But that was before I had all of the facts. And I could never hate you for something you had no control over.”
“And now?”
In her eyes were all her hopes and dreams for the future. He sat up, took both of her hands in his. “Now I want to make you my wife. Not a duchess or an innkeeper’s woman. I want you for me. I want to feel your skin against mine. I want to wake up next to you in my bed every day for the rest of our lives.”
“And if I say no? What if I decide I’m not strong enough for country life? What if I decide this life is not for me and go back to the city? What will you do then, Blake? Will you forget about me once and for all?”
He shook his head. “Never. If you go to the city, then I go to the city. If you take passage on a ship headed for the Americas, I’ll be there right beside you. There is nowhere you can flee this time, sweeting, that I won’t find you.”
“Yes.”
His hands tightened around hers. “Yes?”
“Yes.”
“What about—”
She put her fingers to his lips to silence him. “I love you. Let’s worry about the details later. You need to rest now.”
That was the last thing he needed. “There’s only one thing I need right now.” He reached for her, wrapped his arm around her lower back and pulled her onto his lap.
“What’s that?” she asked with a giggle.
He kissed her long and hard, poured his heart and soul into it. “I think it works better if I show you...”
* * * * *
A note from the author
The idea for Sophia’s loss came mostly from an article I read in a magazine many moons ago. The lady had suffered nine miscarriages before being diagnosed with a folate deficiency resulting in miscarriage generally before nine weeks gestation. One of my closest friends suffered three miscarriages before the doctors picked it up with her (or her husband in their case).
A study conducted by researchers from Sweden’s Karolinka Institute in conjunction with the U.S. National Institute of Child Health and Human Services (NICHD) and published in 2002 in the Journal of the American Medical Association proved that women with less than 50% folate levels had increased risks of early pregnancy losses.
Folic acid, also known as folate, is a vitamin necessary for proper cell growth and embryo development. Folate deficiency also has been associated with placental separation during pregnancy, pregnancy-induced hypertension and low blood supply to the placenta. These effects may in part be responsible for the increased risk of miscarriage.
In 1998, the FDA began requiring food manufacturers to fortify certain grain products with folic acid. Many breakfast cereals, rice, pasta and most breads are now an excellent source of the vitamin, as are beans, leafy green vegetables and citrus fruits.
But in the Regency era, can you imagine how many women would have suffered from low or no folate and endured miscarriages and delivered babies with birth defects? It’s not like the diets of the rich and famous in London would have been loaded with healthy greens. Folate deficiency can also affect men and regularly does even in the 21st century.
While I can predict a very happy future for Blake and Sophia (with a diet change and greens from their very own garden), I also like to think they would have been blessed with a huge family and lived happily ever after.
Bronwyn.
About the Author
Bronwyn’s love of reading all things romantic got her into trouble at a very young age. Starting with Mills & Boon books “borrowed” from her mum and then progressing to meaty fantasies and sweeping sagas. It’s only fair that romance pays her back with unique ideas for her own novels.
From her tree house in the Adelaide Hills she writes deep, emotional historical romance with independent heroines searching for Prince Charming and heroes worthy of the tag. Her life is made complete by the laughter of her young children, the meows of two white, fluffy cats and a man who thinks chivalry is what happens after you eat bad chicken.
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ISBN: 978-14268-9539-5
Copyright © 2013 by Bronwyn Stuart
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Behind the Courtesan Page 23