Eventually he spoke, with a slight grate to his voice. ‘Did you really mean it when you described my kissing you as “sordid”?’
‘I—I—!’
Her cheeks aflame, Sophie was temporarily lost for words.
‘I had the distinct feeling that, for a moment or two at least, you were actually enjoying the whole experience quite as much as I was,’ he continued, still concentrating his gaze to the front. Then, with a jerk, he pulled his team to a standstill and swung round to face her, his eyes boring into hers. ‘In fact, I defy you to tell me that you didn’t enjoy it!’
‘I—I—that is—it was wrong of you to pounce on me like that!’ she floundered, finding it totally impossible to withstand the blatant heat of his compelling gaze.
‘That’s not what I asked!’ he rasped, ripping off his glove before reaching out and cupping her cheek so as to prevent her turning her head away. ‘Look me in the eye and tell me that you didn’t enjoy it as much as I did!’
Endless minutes ticked slowly by, as the Viscount’s unremitting gaze seemed to strip away every one of her defences and lay open her very soul, until at last, as a little sob escaped her lips, Sophie was forced to tear her eyes away from his with the broken whisper, ‘I—I cannot—you know full well that I cannot!’
A hot flood of elation pulsed through him. I knew it! I knew it! Marcus told himself exultantly, clenching his fists and almost punching at the air in his utter delight at having forced the admission from her, but then, as his gleeful eyes turned once more to confront her, a bewildered frown furrowed his brow. Sophie’s face was turned away from him, but there on her right cheek the slow trickle of a single tear was clearly visible. All of a sudden his heart seemed to stumble to a standstill, and what he had previously regarded as a resounding victory swiftly deteriorated into the most crippling of defeats.
Motioning to Kimble to get down and hold the horses’ heads, the Viscount reached across and took hold of Sophie’s hands, only to feel his heart lurch once more. Even through the thin fabric of her cheap cotton gloves the trembling of her fingers was marked.
‘Don’t,’ he murmured hoarsely, as he gripped her hands tightly in his. ‘Please don’t—I’m so very sorry—I didn’t mean to browbeat you so—I really cannot think what came over me to behave in such a way. I can’t apologise enough—please tell me that you forgive me?’
Sniffing back her tears, Sophie tried her best to extricate herself from his hold. ‘If you would be so good as to let go of my hands, I really would like to wipe my nose,’ she mumbled crossly.
Although Helstone’s ruthless badgering had undermined her confidence considerably, she was determined not to let him see the extent of her humiliation. She felt thoroughly wretched and was quite certain that the Viscount, despite his extensive apologies, must think her behaviour ridiculous. When all was said and done, it was hardly the end of the world to have been obliged to admit to having enjoyed his embrace—especially since she had thought of little else since it happened. Although, what had caused his lordship to get so fired up about the whole matter was a complete mystery to her. He probably keeps a little black book of all his conquests, marking off the names whenever he achieves a success, she concluded, giving another despondent sniff at the thought of having allowed herself to be just another ticked-off name on some well-practised womaniser’s list.
Relief flooding his face at Sophie’s return to normal, Marcus let go of her hands and, reaching into his jacket pocket, drew out his handkerchief and set about mopping up the damage her tears had done to her face. His gentle, ineffectual dabbings achieved so little success, however, that Sophie was obliged to relieve him of his handkerchief and complete the job to her own satisfaction.
‘Am I forgiven?’ he asked anxiously, when she finally sat motionless, her eyes fixed on the balled-up handkerchief in her gloved hands. ‘Do we proceed or would you prefer that I took you back home?’
Home! The mere idea of the Crayfords’ residence being described as ‘home’ was almost enough to reduce Sophie to tears once more. She and her family had never really had a home of their own—plenty of rented or even commandeered dwellings as they had travelled the continent, but nothing of any long standing. Even the little house in Dulwich that her mother had managed to acquire could hardly be classed as a home, since it was really too small to accommodate all three of them, especially now that two of the rooms had been rented out in order to help Mrs Flint make ends meet. It would seem that a place that Sophie could truly call “home” was forever to remain the “castle in the air” daydream it had always been, rendering the thought of a quick return to her attic bedroom in Lennox Gardens even less appealing than usual.
‘We might just as well go on,’ she said, stifling a sigh. ‘Now that we’ve come this far—you presumably set out with a particular objective in mind?’
I did indeed, thought Marcus somewhat ruefully, as he now began to wonder whether he might not have been just a little too precipitate in his planning for this afternoon’s excursion. Despite having woken up with the very devil of a headache, he had set about carrying out his previous evening’s intention of wearing down Sophie’s resistance with a series of delightful treats, having convinced himself that all that was required was a few tastes of the high life to make her rethink her stubborn refusal to put herself under his protection. He had spent much of the morning organising the delivery of champagne, hot-house strawberries and an unlimited number of baskets of all sorts of other luxury comestibles to his intended destination, and he had been hoping to overwhelm her with such bountiful largesse.
That the delightful cottage and grounds would speak for themselves he had little doubt, he himself having been thoroughly charmed with the tiny estate when he had first come across it some months ago. He owned several other properties, of course, including the two that presently housed his current mistresses, but neither of them had received a visit from him for almost a full month now—as certain parts of his body were only too aware—due to his having allowed himself to become thoroughly preoccupied with a chestnut-haired vision who had inadvertently crept into his bedchamber in the middle of a snowstorm!
Now, however, thanks to a careless lack of judgement on his part, it was beginning to look as though his original plan might have to be postponed. Not that that need prevent the two of them spending an idle hour or so at the cottage, he thought, brightening. Indeed, it would be a great shame to allow all that food to go to waste, and after all Mrs Bellamy had been warned to expect him, and had, in all probability, gone to a great deal of trouble on his behalf…
‘Just a little way beyond the next village,’ he said, having finally made up his mind, and, whistling for Kimble to return to his perch, he took up the reins and once more pointed his team in the direction of Laurel Cottage.
Having been too engrossed to pay much attention to the landscape during the earlier part of their journey, Sophie found herself wondering exactly where they were. She vaguely recalled travelling along the Knightsbridge Road and turning into Sloane Street, but now that they were out in the country, with her limited knowledge of London’s environs, it was difficult for her to guess where they might be—somewhere in the region of Chelsea Village, she assumed.
Chelsea! Sitting bolt upright, she swivelled herself round and fixed Helstone with a piercing glare.
‘We wouldn’t be heading for your “neat little cottage in Chelsea” by any chance, would we, my lord?’ she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Do you never give up?’
‘In the blood, I’m afraid,’ he replied, with a slightly self-conscious half-laugh. ‘You need have no fear for your virtue on this occasion, however. The house comes fully equipped with as highly respectable a staff as you are ever likely to come across—the formidable Mrs Bellamy would doubtless have at me with a frying pan if I so much as lifted a finger in your direction!’
‘I cannot suppose that that has ever prevented you from turning up with a succession of opera dancers
and other such lightskirts,’ she returned frostily.
‘Not so,’ he drawled, before skilfully swinging his equipage through an arched gateway and up an attractively curved driveway flanked by laurel bushes. ‘I have never felt the need to associate with females of that sort and, much as it may surprise you to learn, you are the only lady of my acquaintance who has ever been invited to cross the threshold of this particular establishment. There!’ As the carriage drew up outside the front door steps, he swept out his arm to encompass the surrounding vista. ‘Tell me what you think.’
No sooner had her eyes lit upon the graceful lines of the simple but charming two-storeyed building, surrounded by a profusion of neatly stocked flowerbeds and set in a wide expanse of carefully tended lawn, than Sophie’s throat started to contract painfully, making it impossible for her to take a full breath. For there in front of her, in all its splendid glory, stood her dream home, almost exactly as she had always pictured it.
Utterly lost for words, she could only sit and gaze about her in silent awe, causing Marcus to experience a sharp stab of disappointment when the expected words of approval failed to materialise, since he had already convinced himself that the peaceful beauty of the place would appeal to Sophie in much the same way that it had attracted him.
‘I take it that you’re not overly impressed, then,’ he said abruptly as, tossing the reins to the already descended Kimble, he leapt lightly from the driving seat and walked around the carriage to help Sophie alight. Doggedly resisting the impulse to fasten both his hands about her waist and haul her down into a crushing embrace, he gritted his teeth and held out only the one hand, in the total expectation of Sophie’s making use of its assistance to help her down from her seat. But no! It seemed that she was still so heavily engrossed in the view that she remained completely oblivious to both his words and his actions. A baffled frown appeared on his brow as he registered the thoroughly stunned and awed expression on her face.
Good Lord! he thought, as he let his arm fall limply to his side. She is as entranced with the place as I had hoped she would be. Round one to me, it seems. It would appear that the lady is well and truly hooked!
Filled with a deep sense of satisfaction, but well aware that the battle was not yet won, the Viscount, clearing his throat briskly, reached out his hand again and tapped Sophie gently on the arm.
‘I hate to interrupt your reverie, my dear, but I fear that the horses are starting to get restive!’
At the unexpectedness of his touch, Sophie found herself jerked back to the far-from-dreamlike reality of her present situation. How typical of the devil to have stumbled across the very place that might cause me to change my mind, she thought crossly, as she placed her hand into Helstone’s and allowed him to help her down from the carriage. Nevertheless, she vowed, he will soon find that I still have no intention of becoming his paramour, no matter how impossibly perfect his beastly cottage might be!
Not that the idea was without a certain appeal, she was obliged to concede, casting up a quick sideways glance at the Viscount’s handsome visage as he escorted her up the front steps and through the cottage’s already opened door. Would it really be so very wrong to agree to his proposition in order to acquire the tenancy of this splendid house? she conjectured wistfully, as she stepped inside the elegantly appointed hallway. But even as she felt the heat of so enticing a notion coursing through her veins, she forced herself to thrust it instantly away. To exchange a future lifetime of pain and regret for a few months of vicarious pleasure could in no way be considered any sort of a bargain, she castigated herself impatiently. For, despite having had a rather limited acquaintance with the subject, she was not so foolish that she did not understand that the sort of liaison in which Helstone had suggested she might care to involve herself was well known to have a somewhat limited tenure. It was not difficult to fathom out what might become of women in such situations once they were cast aside—the very thought of which was enough to make her own dreary existence seem almost palatable by comparison!
‘Good afternoon, my lord. I trust that you had a pleasant journey?’
Returning her thoughts to the reality of her present situation, Sophie became aware that the Viscount was being addressed by a tall, stately looking female of indeterminate years, clad in a black bombazine gown with a neat frill of white lace at its neck. Mrs Bellamy, the housekeeper, she supposed, doing her utmost to adopt an air of detached nonchalance in the face of the housekeeper’s expected attitude of disparagement. Not that I should expect anything less from the poor creature, she reminded herself. Unaccompanied young ladies of good standing do not accept invitations to the secret love-nests of well-known libertines. The good woman has probably already formed her own opinion of my doubtful worth—especially since my mode of dress is likely to be somewhat dowdy when compared to that of his lordship’s usual doxies!
Lifting her chin, she stared defiantly at the housekeeper, daring the woman to show her disapproval.
‘Pleasant enough, thank you, Mrs Bellamy—although a trifle more breezy than I had anticipated. Perhaps you would be so good as to direct Miss Flint to a chamber where she might wash her hands and tidy her hair?’
‘But of course, sir—do come this way, ma’am.’
To Sophie’s surprise, the housekeeper’s tone was in no way starchy or censorious. In fact, as she led her up the broad staircase to the upper floor, Mrs Bellamy’s face creased in a friendly smile. She showed her into a prettily decorated bedchamber and invited her to make use of its facilities.
‘I shall have hot water sent up directly,’ she said, directing Sophie’s attention to the washstand beside a fully equipped dressing table. ‘You will find combs and brushes there—they are all brand new, of course, so please do not be afraid to avail yourself of them. I was beginning to doubt that they would ever be used! His lordship has owned the property for well over six months now, and you are the very first visitor ever to have set foot inside it!’ Pausing, she shot Sophie a somewhat shrewd glance, before going on to say, ‘I do so hope that you approve of all the decorations and improvements that have been made.’
That the housekeeper should consider her opinion to be of any value came as something of a surprise to Sophie, given that she was just a casual visitor and hardly likely to come here again. But then it occurred to her that the woman was merely looking for some sort of acknowledgment for all the hard work that she and her staff had put in.
‘I really cannot imagine that anyone would be able to find fault with a single thing, Mrs Bellamy,’ she assured her earnestly. ‘Everything looks so clean and bright—it’s quite the loveliest cottage that I have ever seen, and the gardens, well, who could possibly ask for a more delightful view?’
Crossing over to the open window, she poked her head out, only to find her senses almost overwhelmed by the fragrant scent of the densely blossomed honeysuckle bush, whose branches had spread their tendrils right across the cottage wall just below the room’s windowsill. And then, as her eyes travelled slowly across the neatly laid out gardens before her, they fell upon an arching rose arbour at the far end of the side garden, beyond which another glorious aspect threatened to take her breath away. There, with its gently sloping banks edged with aspen and willow trees—complete with all the obligatory bulrushes, water lilies, swans and assorted ducks of her childhood imaginings—lay a small but picturesque lake, its limpid waters sparkling invitingly in the afternoon sunshine. The entire prospect was so devastatingly awe-inspiring that she was rendered almost speechless.
‘Perfect,’ she breathed softly. ‘Truly perfect.’
‘I am so glad you approve, ma’am.’ The housekeeper beamed as she turned to leave the room. ‘I have always thought it a most pleasant view, myself. And now, if you will excuse me, I must go and see about that hot water I promised you.’
Chapter Nine
Tentatively retracing her steps down the stairs some ten minutes later, Sophie was well on the way to convincing herself
that Viscount Helstone must be something of a mind-reading magician for, having brought her to this delightful cottage, presumably with the sole intention of persuading her to accept his offer, he seemed to have managed to conjure up almost every one of the wild and wonderful fantasies that she had held dear for most of her childhood years and beyond. How Mama would love all this, she thought dreamily, as she ran her fingers over the smooth, lovingly polished surface of the mahogany banister rail. And what an incredible place for Roger to come home to in the holidays! All those trees, just waiting to be climbed, and the lake—how he would revel in fishing there—possibly he could even have a boat of his own! We could have picnics by the lakeside, and in the winter, when the water froze…
‘A penny for them, Miss Flint!’
The sound of Helstone’s deep voice at her elbow wrenched her from her daydream. With a gasp of dismay, she spun round, her cheeks aflame. What could she have been thinking, to let her imagination run away with her in such a foolish manner? To accept Helstone’s offer would mean totally cutting herself off from her family, just as her father had done from his all those years ago. There would be no way on earth that she would ever see her mama strolling across these lawns twirling her parasol, and her brother would most likely never be allowed to speak to her again, let alone climb the apple trees in Laurel Cottage’s orchard!
‘Hardly a sufficient offer, perhaps?’ continued the Viscount, easing himself away from the doorframe against which he had been leaning while watching Sophie’s preoccupied descent of the stairs. ‘I have the feeling that your thoughts were worth a good deal more than that—but I shan’t press you, so your secrets are perfectly safe, I promise you.’
The Rake's Final Conquest Page 11