Damn.
As if things weren’t bad enough, now he had to contend with his former mistress making thinly veiled threats against his fiancée. What in God’s name had gotten into Bathsheba? Surely she couldn’t be hankering after their old liaison? Rumor had it she had already taken Watley as her current lover, so why the jealous display? It defied all sense, but his instincts clamored too loudly to ignore. Puck was now his to protect, and he would do whatever it took to keep her safe.
He strode out the door into the crisp fall air, heading past the imposing abbey toward the Avon River and Pulteney Bridge. It took but a few minutes at a quick pace to reach Robert and Annabel’s fashionable townhouse in Laura Place.
The footman who answered his knock informed him that both Mr. and Mrs. Stanton were at home. Intensely aware of the difficulties that lay before him, Simon bit back yet another curse as he followed the livery-clad servant up the stairs to the drawing room. Robert would be furious, of course, but the lad could be managed. Annabel was another matter entirely. She might be young, but she had a will of iron, and he had little doubt she would heartily disapprove of his plans for Sophie.
“The Earl of Trask,” announced the footman.
Simon cast a glance around the small but well-appointed drawing room. Annabel and Robert sat side by side on a sofa next to the window. The midday sun streamed through the glass, bathing the couple in a cheerful glow and picking out bright strands of honey-colored hair in Annabel’s locks. Robert had a book facedown in his lap, ignoring it in favor of assisting his pretty wife, who seemed to be struggling with a particularly recalcitrant piece of embroidery.
The air of contentment in the room was palpable and, given Simon’s current mood, annoying.
“Simon, old fellow,” Robert exclaimed as he jumped to his feet. “Never expected to have you come calling in the middle of the day. Didn’t you mention last night that you might be going out of town? Some urgent business to attend to, wasn’t it?”
Simon’s mood went from grey to black.
“Yes, but I’ve had to put off my plans until I wrap up a few loose threads here in Bath. I hope to leave town by the end of the day.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, my lord. We had hoped to see you tonight at dinner with your aunts,” said Annabel.
Simon froze. She gave him one of her sweetest smiles and stretched out her hand. Shaking off his paralysis, he moved over to the sofa to acknowledge her greeting.
“The misfortune is mine, Mrs. Stanton,” he replied, bowing over her slender fingers. “I, too, looked forward to seeing you.”
“I know your aunts will miss you very much. Lady Eleanor is so rarely well enough to entertain. How unfortunate you can’t delay your journey by a day.”
Simon inwardly winced at the delicate but well-placed jab. Annabel was almost as relentless as Sophie when it came to nagging him about his duty to his aunts.
“Now, Bella,” admonished Robert indulgently, “no need to scold. I’m sure Lady Eleanor has rung a massive peal over him already. It ain’t like any man would ever want to go looking to disappoint the old battle—”
Annabel’s eyes flashed a warning.
“Old girl,” Robert amended hastily. “Unless he had to. You’d never hear the end of it. Ain’t that right, Simon?”
Simon cleared his throat and gave a terse nod. Hell. He’d forgotten that his aunts would be hosting a small dinner party tonight. He resisted the urge to pull out his pocketbook and pencil, instead making a mental note to send formal regrets over to St. James’s Square this afternoon.
Along with a large arrangement of Aunt Eleanor’s favorite roses.
Annabel put away her embroidery. “Robert, shall we ring for tea? Or would you rather a port or a sherry, my lord?”
“Thank you, but no. I’ve come to see Robert on a matter of business. You’ll forgive me, Mrs. Stanton, if I ask you to excuse us for a few minutes.”
Robert’s brows shot up into his hairline—understandable given that Simon made it a point never to discuss business with family or friends, save one or two exceptions. Robert was not one of those exceptions.
Oddly enough, Annabel didn’t seem at all put out by his request. She gazed at him and then nodded, as if some particular question had just been answered.
“Of course, my lord. I look forward to seeing you again when you return to Bath.” She dropped him a quick curtsy, her eyes sparkling with something that looked suspiciously like laughter.
Simon waited until she had left the room before speaking. “Please sit, Robert. I’ve something very important to discuss with you.”
The boy looked puzzled, but resumed his seat. Simon lowered himself into a delicate and remarkably uncomfortable Sheraton chair.
“Robert, I’ve come to ask your permission for Sophie’s hand in marriage. I realize that approaching your mother and grandfather would be more appropriate, but I hope to expedite matters by speaking to you first.”
Joy transformed the young man’s wary features in an instant. He leapt to his feet.
“Capital, old fellow! Annabel was certain that’s why you’d come to Bath. I thought she was talking flummery, but she’ll be overjoyed to know she was right.”
“Unfortunately, your congratulations are premature,” Simon responded dryly. “While I appreciate your support, a few difficulties with your sister appear to have surfaced.”
Robert looked at him blankly for a moment, but then sighed and sat back down. “Why does it not surprise me to hear that? Have you already asked her to marry you?”
“Yes. She accepted my proposal, although in what might be considered a less than graceful fashion.”
Robert started to laugh, but hastily smothered his chuckles when Simon glared at him.
“I’m sorry to hear that, old man.”
“In addition, she asked that we keep our betrothal secret, at least for the time being. Sophie apparently thinks she needs time to adjust to the notion of becoming my wife.”
Robert frowned. “I don’t like the idea of a secret betrothal. She shouldn’t be keeping it from her family, and neither should you.”
Simon blinked. “Of course not. I tried to explain that very point to Sophie, but she wouldn’t listen.”
Robert eyed him. His guarded expression made him appear older than his years. “It ain’t like Sophie to be so skittish, and everyone knows she’s been mooning after you ever since…well, since forever. But she’s been on the shelf for years now. Practically an ape leader, in fact.”
Simon throttled back a sharp retort. Sophie had been out for several Seasons, but to think of her as an old maid was absurd.
“Perhaps she does need a little time to adjust to the idea,” Robert mused. “After all, as Countess of Trask she’ll be one of the most powerful leaders of the ton. That will be a change for her, especially since the old girl’s more used to being on the receiving end of the dragon’s breath, not being one of the dragons herself.”
“Robert, I would be grateful if you would stop referring to Sophie as an old girl.”
Robert ignored him. “I suppose that as long as Mamma and I know about the engagement, you can give her the time she needs to get used to the idea of marriage.” His frown disappeared, replaced by a smile that made him look remarkably like Sophie.
“Unfortunately, time has run out. It’s imperative that Sophie and I announce our betrothal immediately. I would like to post the banns this Sunday and marry in three weeks’ time.”
“Why the rush, Simon? Doesn’t seem very sporting of you if Sophie isn’t ready to do that.”
Simon repressed a stab of something that felt uncomfortably like chagrin. “Because Sophie and I have been intimate, Robert. I certainly hope I don’t have to explain to you what that means.”
“What?” Robert roared—actually roared—and bounded to his feet. Simon had never once heard the lad raise his voice, but he should have expected it. Anytime Sophie was involved, things were bound to go to hell in a handc
art.
“Calm down, Robert. Let me explain. You can take me out into the garden later and pound me into a bloody pulp, but right now we have to solve this problem and get Sophie to agree to marry me.”
The boy glared at him, but subsided into his seat. He looked angrier than Simon had ever seen him. “Don’t think I wouldn’t, Simon, even though you outweigh me by two stone. That’s my sister we’re talking about, not some…well, you know exactly what I mean. She ain’t one of your light-o’-loves, after all.”
Simon felt a dull heat creep up from under his collar. “I know, Robert, and I sincerely apologize. The fault is entirely mine. You can believe I will do everything I must to make it right. Sophie is an innocent, and I ask you not to think less of her.”
Robert grumbled something unflattering, but finally relented. “Of course I don’t think any less of Sophie. But as for her being innocent of any wrongdoing, I saw how badly she was behaving last night, which is when I suppose, well…when it happened. Wanted to take her home myself, but Annabel wouldn’t let me. Why the blasted girl decided to kick over the traces now is beyond me. God only knows what Mamma will have to say about this.”
“I think it best we keep the details from your mother.”
Robert eyed him uncertainly. “Well, given what happened between the two of you, why is Sophie dragging her feet? I would think she’d have the sense to realize that time is of the essence. Good God, if anyone found out, her reputation would be in tatters.”
Simon hesitated. “I’m beginning to suspect she’s not quite sure of me. Or, rather, not quite sure why I asked her to marry me.”
“Why did you ask her to marry you?” Robert blurted out. “Until yesterday, I was afraid you were going to marry that…I mean, I thought you were considering asking Lady Randolph to be your wife.”
“Robert.” Simon leaned forward in his chair, which creaked ominously beneath his weight. “There is nothing between Lady Randolph and myself. Sophie need never worry about that, or anything like it. I give you my word.”
Robert gave a tiny nod, but his gaze remained wary. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you marrying her?”
Simon had been debating with himself for the last hour how much to reveal to Robert. It was bad enough keeping secrets from Sophie, even though he did it to spare her feelings. But it didn’t seem honorable to withhold the reasons from her older brother.
“My reasons are twofold,” he began. As he explained the intricacies of his negotiations with Russell, a cloud of gloom settled over Robert’s countenance. Simon felt the sting of guilt, but he pushed it away. Robert knew as well as anyone that marriages in the aristocracy were made to strengthen families and estates, not satisfy emotional whims. Still, he should reassure the boy.
“But that’s not the only reason I want to marry Sophie,” he said, meeting Robert’s troubled gaze with a steady one of his own. “You know how fond I am of her. Nothing would make me happier than to care for her as she deserves to be cared for. I promise you she will be happy with me, and will never want for anything I can give her.”
Robert shook his head, looking even gloomier. Simon forced himself to remain silent, surprised by how much he needed the boy to believe him.
“Fond, eh? I hope you didn’t say that to her.”
Simon flexed his fingers on the spindly arm of the chair. There were days when Robert tried his patience almost as much as Sophie did.
“Robert, you know as well as I that Sophie has an unfortunate knack for getting into a great deal of trouble. I suspect that will only get worse over time. Did you know she went to the workhouse in Avon Street looking for the boy who stole her reticule?”
Robert’s eyes bugged out of their sockets. He started to sputter with outrage, but Simon cut him off.
“That’s just the beginning. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that your sister is in desperate need of a husband to control her more wayward impulses. You know it, your mother knows it, and your grandparents know it, too.”
“But—”
“I cherish Sophie. I always have, and I always will. She needs me, and you can’t doubt that she loves me. Ours will be a happy marriage, and it will put an end to the restlessness that seems to have come over her. She can’t be allowed to dwindle into an old maid. I simply won’t allow it, and neither should you.” Simon heard the determination in his own voice, realizing with a shock how much he meant it. He couldn’t bear the thought of Sophie growing old, unhappy and alone.
Robert deflated as if someone had pricked him with a needle. “Blast you, of course you’re right. And Annabel would seem to agree with you. But if you hurt her, Simon, in any way, I swear I’ll kill you. I mean it.”
Simon nodded. “I know. Sophie will be happy, Robert. I promise you.”
Robert straightened up and tugged on the edges of his waistcoat. He looked at him with an air of expectancy, slipping easily into the familiar habit of relying on Simon to provide the answers to life’s most vexing questions.
“Well, old man, I hope you have a plan, because Lord knows Sophie doesn’t listen to me. Never has.”
“I do have a plan. But we must—and I emphasize this, Robert—we must keep it from both Sophie and Annabel. Although my plan is entirely necessary, it’s not something either of them will like.”
Gloom settled over Robert’s features once more. “Then why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like it either?”
Chapter Fifteen
Lord, what had she done now?
Sophie expelled a weary sigh. Lady Langton stared at her from behind a stack of novels, her rabbitlike nose twitching with scandalized excitement. Sophie had noticed a similar reaction from several other people she had encountered since she left the townhouse in St. James’s Square immediately after breakfast.
She forced herself not to glare back at the plump baroness, shifting her attention to the impressive collection of history books in Mr. Barratt’s circulating library on Bond Street. But the finely tooled markings on the leather spines faded into a gilded blur as her thoughts traveled once more to the cause of her troubles.
Simon.
Her stomach lurched south at the thought of her absent fiancé. He had sent a note two days ago informing her that he was leaving town on business but would return to Bath as soon as he could. Her first reaction had been outrage at his cavalier dismissal of both her and his aunts, who had expected him for dinner that evening. That surge of emotion had been followed by a guilty wash of relief. She wasn’t ready to face him. Not yet. Not after how outrageously she had treated him in the Pump Room.
She squeezed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to block the images of that scene from her mind. But nothing could diminish the discomfort with her ploy to keep Simon at bay, or with his slack-jawed and then furious response to her refusal to acknowledge their earth-shattering intimacies.
Intimacies that had left their mark on her body and her soul. Intimacies that no sane woman would try to deny.
Her cheeks flamed with heat as she recalled the intoxicating strength of his muscular body, and how it had felt when he had pushed himself inside her. Her legs still grew weak at the memory. It meant she’d spent the last two days tottering around like an old lady, since their encounter on Lady Eleanor’s settee was all she could seem to think about.
Every waking moment.
And every sleeping moment too. Dreams of Simon’s hands stroking her skin and his mouth devouring her made her jerk awake each night, twisted in the sheets, her body drenched in sweat.
She clapped shut the History of the Battle of Carthage and shoved it back into its spot on the shelf. Enough was enough. She had spent more time thinking about Simon than he deserved. His disregard for her wishes had forced her into a distressing course of action, but it had been necessary. The sooner he learned he couldn’t bully her, the better. If Simon wanted to marry her, he must learn to treat her with consideration and respect, not order her about as if she wer
e a child.
Ignoring the stares of Lady Langton, who seemed entranced by her presence in the shop, Sophie continued her fruitless perusal of Mr. Barratt’s shelves. Instead of wasting time thinking about Simon or looking at books, she should be devising a plan to help Toby and Becky. After all, they were the reason she had insisted on staying in town.
But how in heaven’s name could she assist them? Simon had forbidden her to return to their father’s tavern, and Becky had flatly refused her offer of help. Perhaps if she could discover the name of the children’s aunt and where she lived in London, she could somehow find a way to get them there. But she would need someone to help her acquire that information, and the only person who might be able to do that—besides Simon—was Reverend Crawford.
Yes, he would do.
Nodding to herself with satisfaction, Sophie spun on her heel to head for the door. She gasped, jerking back to avoid a crash with a woman dressed in a red velvet pelisse and enveloped in a cloud of expensive perfume.
Lady Randolph had apparently appeared out of thin air, her fern-colored eyes smoldering with ill will.
“Good morning, Miss Stanton.” Her ladyship’s voice held enough venom to poison a small town.
Sophie righted herself and shoved her poke bonnet out of her eyes. “Good morning, Lady Randolph. How…er…pleasant to see you.”
The woman’s eyes shot flaming arrows at her.
“It must be a pleasant morning for you, my dear. Allow me to offer my congratulations on your most advantageous match. I’m sure Simon is pleased to be adding to his holdings in the north. He has been looking to buy land in Yorkshire for quite the longest time, and your dowry will no doubt provide him with what he has been searching for.”
The air rushed from Sophie’s lungs in an enormous whoosh. Time ground to a halt as she stared into Lady Randolph’s perfect, rigid features.
“What are you talking about?” she finally blurted out.
The anger in Lady Randolph’s eyes leached away as another equally unpleasant emotion took its place. The image of a barn cat about to leap on a mouse flashed through Sophie’s brain.
Sex and the Single Earl Page 17