Sophia's Gamble

by Hilly Mason

  Sophia put her hand on his arm. His muscles tensed under her touch.

  “I’m sorry this has happened to you,” she told him sincerely.

  His eyes darkened and he snatched his arm away. “You know, this wouldn’t have happened if you...”

  Sophia took a step back. “If I what?” she asked sharply.

  Alex shook his head. “No, never mind.”

  “If I what, Alex?”

  Alex looked up at her as the muscles around his eyes tightened.

  “I do not want to speak about it.”

  “Well, maybe we should. I’ve been replaying that scene of almost five years ago over and over and I cannot for the life of me understand what had happened.”

  He shook his head and took a step back. “I apologize for tonight.”

  Sophia nodded silently and turned toward the door to her bedroom. She then stopped.

  “She is still your daughter, through and through,” she finally found the words to say.

  “So I’ve also been told by my sister,” Alex replied quietly.

  Well, at least the woman had some wits about her.

  “Why did you agree to have me for dinner tonight?” Sophia asked him softly.

  He didn’t answer, but the way he was looking at her made her heart flutter wildly in her chest. He looked as though he was going to say something, but the silence was drawing out long enough. He reached out to rest his hand on her shoulder. She took a step back and nodded curtly.

  “Very well. I will see you tomorrow after I am finished with Annie’s lessons.” Before he could fit a word in, she turned and fled.

  He was inebriated, Sophia reassured herself as she walked up the stairs to her room. That is why he was acting that way. Still, she could feel his touch on her arm, and she hated how she wanted more of it. I am now an independent woman. I don’t need the touch of a man, especially one who has hurt me in the past.

  Once in her room, she changed out of the cursed gown and frowned at the slight stain on her chemise. She had no other spare chemise, so it would have to do until she was able to buy a new one.

  As she slipped into bed, she froze. She heard footsteps just outside her door, yet she had seen no light from the candle shine through the gap between the door and the floor.

  Curious, she got out of bed, grabbed her candle, and walked barefoot over to the door and opened it.

  “Hello?” she called out, turning her head left and right. Was it just a servant? What would they be doing up here in complete darkness? Sophia shivered, and couldn’t help but remember Annie’s monster.

  I’m being ridiculous, she chided herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to stave off the shivers she felt. Still, she felt the need to check in on Annie. She went over to the girl’s room and opened the door slowly.

  The child was sleeping soundly, one leg out of the covers, one leg in, her arm bent alongside her head with her palm up, fingers curled.

  It must be heartbreaking to learn that your child is not actually yours, she thought, staring at the sleeping child. Poor Alex; how could somebody be so heartless as to do something so selfish?

  Oh, right. She exited Annie’s room and walked down the hall to her own. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

  She let out a startled gasp as she ran into something hard. An arm reached out to steady her and she quickly stomped on a pair of feet. Once the intruder let out a string of curses, she immediately recognized the voice.

  “Alex, what in God’s name are you doing skulking about in the darkness?”

  “I left my candle downstairs,” Alex explained. He sounded even more inebriated than their last encounter. “I don’t want to go all the way back down to retrieve it, but I had to make sure Annie was asleep in her bed. I never noticed how many stairs this damned house has!”

  Sophia chuckled, in spite of herself. “Yes, there are quite a few, aren’t there? Are you going to need some help getting back to your room, then?”

  Alex was swaying on his feet. “Of course not,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster. “Excuse me, milady.”

  Sophia bit back a giggle as he started walking the opposite direction. “Uh, Alex?”

  He stopped and turned around. The only thing she could see in the darkness of the hall was the white from his dress shirt. Wait, was that all he had on? Sophia felt her face flush. Thank God, the shirt covered all of the improper bits.

  “Alex, were you changing in your room in the dark?”

  “Yes, I did. But then I decided I wanted to do some reading, but I can’t find a damned candle. Oh, and Annie! I need to check on Annie.”

  “All right, then. It seems a bit too late for reading, so why don’t we just get you back into bed? I checked in on Annie already; she’s sleeping soundly.”

  “Oh, fine.” When he walked up beside her, she wrapped her arm around his torso and began to guide him toward the direction of his bedroom. Even with the redolence of the brandy, he still smelled the same masculine, woodsy scent as he did years ago. Every time she remembered that only a thin piece of cloth separated her from the hard planes of his muscular body, her mind became fuzzier and her body warmer.

  “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and see that you have walked straight out of a window, with your dress shirt over your head for the whole world to see your bare arse,” she said as they walked.

  “That sounds as though it would be painful… and embarrassing. Do you remember that time when we were fourteen or fifteen, you had stolen some of you aunt’s brandy and we took it by the river?”

  “Drinking sure does make you nostalgic, doesn’t it?” Sophia said dryly. “But yes, I remember. When my aunt found out she wouldn’t let me out of the house for a month.”

  “That didn’t stop you from climbing out the window, though.”

  “And breaking my arm in the process.”

  She opened the door to his room. She then set her candle down on a table and directed him to his bed. Sophia knew how shocking it would be if someone were to walk in on them, with both of them barely dressed, but her reputation did not matter to her anymore. Right now she was back to being Sophia Clarke with Alex St. George, her friend from adolescence.

  “Up you go then, into bed.” she said. “I am not dressing you in your bedclothes, as it is not in my job description. This is as good as it’s going to get.”

  “It’s already good. I’m halfway there, anyway,” Alex mumbled. He jumped on top of the covers on his bed and closed his eyes, then uttered something unintelligible.

  “What was that?”

  He opened one eye, a shiny piece of coal glinting in the darkness. “I said you look pretty today.”

  Sophia looked down at herself and couldn’t help but laugh. “I look like a mad witch with sacrificial blood on her clothes.”

  “I like mad witches,” he told her.

  “You are delirious.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  Sophia shook her head and turned to leave. Just as she shut the door she thought she heard him whisper, “thank you.”

  She went back into her own room and sat in her bed for the longest time, wondering what it was that she was feeling. The feeling was familiar, but she had buried it down so long ago.

  Ah, yes. She had a taste of what life could have been like with Alex if things had played out differently in their lives. And she had enjoyed it.

  But feelings are fickle, and attraction did not necessarily mean love. A baron such as Alex would never want to marry a governess, even if Sophia had been an earl’s wife. It would not make sense for a man of his standing. “Besides, I am my own woman,” she said out loud to the quiet room.

  But, she thought bemusedly. If I marry him, perhaps there’s a chance I could get Comerford back. Perhaps I could persuade him to abandon the idea of turning it into a gaming club. He could go on living and have as many mistresses as he wanted, and I could have my own London home back.

  And it was London she desired most of all—more th
an any chimerical notion of romance.

  And with that hopeful prospect, she fell asleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alex woke up with the sharp end of a nail being pounded into the side of his head. He opened his eyes, and closed them again tightly as the morning light streaming through the open curtains pierced his faculties with alacrity. Groaning miserably, he moved a heavy hand to the side of his head that hurt the most, searching for the offending object that caused him so much pain, but finding nothing.

  “Ah, you’re awake then, milord.”

  “Marcus?” Alex croaked. “Is that you?” God, he was stale drunk!

  “It is, milord,” his footman said. “Would you like a glass of water to help wake up?”

  “Yes, and go ahead and throw it on me.”

  “Milord?”

  Alex forced himself to sit up. “Shut the damn curtains, will you?”

  “Yes, milord. Right away.”

  When it was blessedly dark in his room, Alex forced his eyes open. His footman stood a respectable distance from his bed, but it might be out of wariness than deference.

  Memories of last night began to trickle back into his mind. That disastrous dinner party... How naive he had been to assume Mr. Smythe would be on his best behavior! Yes, Sophia did look lovely in that dress, but that did not give Mr. Smythe permission to act like a scoundrel.

  And Sophia... Poor Sophia having to deal with not only Mr. Smythe’s inappropriate behavior, but also his sister’s insolence! He would need to talk to her, to tell her that whatever she thought of Sophia, she was still a guest in his house and would be treated like one.

  He looked down at what he was wearing, or the lack thereof. He was still in his dress shirt, and naught else. Had Sophia really brought him to his bed last night while he was like this? Lord, how much did he drink last night? And why?

  “Water, milord?”

  Alex eyes flashed to Marcus as he handed him a glass of the cool liquid. And yes, he remembered the letter from last night—the letter to his wife, signed by his footman. Alex calmly looked at Marcus, noticing the similarities in hair color between him and Annie, the same dimple in their chin, and the same full lips...

  He hadn’t realized how hard he had gripped the glass until it shattered in his hand. He looked at his hand detachedly as shards from the glass cut his skin, crimson blood running down his forearm.

  “Milord, you’re injured.”

  “So I am.” He got up from his bed, despite his alarmingly severe headache. He stared at his hand, carefully picking out the pieces of glass. Then, taking off his dress shirt, he tore it in half and wrapped it around his hand in a tourniquet.

  He closed his eyes a moment, remembering to breathe as anger threatened to consume his senses.

  He was not going to fire Marcus while bare-arsed.

  “Go to the kitchens and tell the cook to concoct something edible with a raw egg and garlic.” Alex hadn’t overindulged like he did last night since Lydia died, but he did remember the few ingredients that helped managed the aftereffects.

  “Right away, milord.”

  The next couple of days passed quickly, with Alex focusing on his business dealings, and Sophia busy with teaching Annie. Alex did not have the nerve to invite Sophia back to dinner again after that terrible disaster, but he found himself wanting to speak with her again, to figure out how to break down the wall that separated the two. At the very least, he knew he should apologize to her without being under the influence of drink.

  After Annie’s studies, Isabel took his daughter away to rest.

  “I do not like Isabel,” Sophia told Alex.

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “She is rough with your daughter.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I witnessed her pulling Annie—Lady St. George’s hair a few days ago, enough for it to be painful for the girl. She seemed to be doing it on purpose.”

  The thought of someone hurting his child caused the hairs on his arms to rise.

  “Do you trust Joyce?” he asked her.

  Sophia looked surprised. “With my life, Alex,” she finally said.

  “Tell Joyce that she is to look after Annie. Tell her that I ordered Isabel to stay in the servants’ hall for the time being until I figure out what to do with her.” So, now there were two servants on their way out of Ramsbury. How many more plotted behind his back?

  Sophia bowed her head in acquiescence and turned to leave.

  “Sophia, will you stay a moment? Please, sit.”

  Sophia looked at him warily but obliged. He noticed that she wore her old mourning gown today. The stains from the ill-fated glass of brandy were visible on the chemise that peeked from the rose-lined hem of her dress. He wondered vaguely if the embroidered flowers indeed smelled like roses if he were to get closer to her.

  “I once again apologize for the other night. I did not intend for the night to progress the way it did,” he paused, feeling shy. “I also had a bit too much to drink that night; Regrettably, I did not react well to that letter you showed me... I... I didn’t do anything untoward to you, did I?”

  A flicker of amusement crossed Sophia’s eyes, but she shook her head.

  “No. Of course not.”

  Alex relaxed his shoulders. “Good.” he said. “I shan’t let that happen again.”

  “Oh, I just assumed you always walked about your house at night in nothing but a shirt.”

  Alex started pulling at his collar. Was it getting too warm in here?

  “Well, I suppose I could do that, being master and all. It does save the servants a bit of time not having to wash so many garments.”

  “Maybe you’ll start a new trend. I would imagine it feels a lot more freeing not to be bound up in those tight trousers you always wear.”

  Alex started coughing as he tried to stifle his laughter.

  “My, are you all right?” Sophia asked, barely concealing her own amusement.

  When Alex recovered himself and took a sip of water, Sophia leaned back and lifted a finger to her chin.

  “I suppose the Scots already thought of that,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Well, I have some Scottish blood on my mother’s side, so I suppose I can get away with it.”

  “With as much as what I saw that night, I think you would look quite charming in a kilt.”

  He knew that he couldn’t hide the blush that now burned his face. However, like a cloud passing over the sun, her eyes became guarded.

  “Was there something you wanted?” she asked.

  “I want to make it up to you,” Alex said, slightly disappointed that their banter came to an abrupt end. “I want to invite you to dinner again.” Sophia stiffed. “No guests, no sister trying to put her nose in where it doesn’t belong. Only us.”

  “Why?”

  “I remember some of what I said to you that night, about how it was before... when we were friends. I do miss our friendship, and I want to know what happened that night when it all fell apart. There was something about that night, a breakdown in communication perhaps, that I want to get sorted.”

  Sophia’s eyes hardened and she tightened her lips. Alex was certain she was going to refuse, and was pleasantly surprised when she nodded her head.

  “Just us,” she agreed. “No servants either. They seem to dislike me most of all.”

  “They do? Why is that?”

  Sophia shrugged and stared down at the rug. “Some of them believe that I’m getting special treatment because I was married to an earl. Others don’t care much about that, but are instead frightened that I am going to murder them. I don’t mind getting special treatment if it means I don’t have to deal with their harsh looks and malicious whispers.”

  “There seems to be a lot that goes on in the servants’ hall that I don’t know about,” he remarked. “I will remedy that.”

  Sophia nodded, but said nothing. He didn’t want to look in her eyes for fear of finding unmasked sympathy, as th
ough she knew exactly what he was thinking of.

  He didn’t want to break in front of her.

  “I will come to dinner tonight.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  This isn’t a romantic gesture, he thought. She is being polite. She did not want me then, and she does not want me now.

  Nonetheless, his heart skipped a beat when she entered the dining room. Her hair was done up nicely, with white pearls adorning the crown of her head like a tiara. It was pretty, although he did prefer her long, unadorned locks.

  She smiled at him politely and took the seat he offered to her, delicately unfolding her serviette and placing it on her lap with t he same, slender, hands he used to hold when they were teenagers, stained with blackberries as they went picking for the fruit by the Thames.

  “We are having roasted fowl today,” he announced as his servants brought out the meal. “Hunted by yours truly.”

  “Do you hunt often?”

  “Only when I need some time to think,” he admitted.

  “I see,” Sophia remarked, and said nothing more. The dinner passed by in almost complete silence, save for the quiet footsteps of his servants and the peals of laughter where Annie played with Joyce in the nearby drawing room.

  Alex could not take the silence any longer.

  “Do you recall the night you were proposed to by Lord Gibbs?”

  “How could I not?” Sophia said, rather caustically. “Don’t all girls remember the day of their proposals?”

  “That night,” he was twisting his serviette uncomfortably in his hands as he struggled for words. “I was so desperate to hold you in my arms.”

  “No.” Sophia lowered her fork and shook her head slowly. “I saw you. Abby had kissed you and you did not pull away.”

  “Abby?”

  “Abigail Clarke, my cousin.”

  “Oh, her.” He barely remembered that silly girl. He had been so focused on Sophia that night that the kiss from the wench had been nothing more than a persistent and annoying barnyard fly. “I had no interest in her.”