by Anne Ashley
"Now, is that not strange!" she remarked, with more than just a hint of sarcasm coating her every word. "I was about to ask you the same question."
He straightened to tower above her, his expression guarded. "I do not perfectly understand you, m'lady."
"No?" Sophia wasn't at all convinced that this was true, for the intelligence she could easily perceive in those striking blue eyes told a different story.
Imps of mischief began to dance in her own. "Then let me make myself perfectly clear. I believe I'm generally held to be a most unexacting mistress, but even I'm not above dealing a sound box round the ear to any servant who shows reluctance in carrying out the few services I might demand of him."
It was at this precise moment that the filly chose to demonstrate her impatience to be off. Ben's muttered, "Unruly little baggage!" had her calmed in a trice, but Sophia wasn't at all certain that the mild admonition had been directed at her horse. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt over this, but wasn't feeling generous enough to permit his subdued state to pass without explanation and demanded, as they rode out of the square, why he appeared to be out of sorts that morning.
"And please do not insult my intelligence by telling me that there's nothing wrong," she went on. "You've a face like a wet Friday."
Benedict could not prevent a smile. His little darling evidently was not one to mince words. But how on earth could he tell her that she was the cause of all his present troubles, and that he was simply a frustrated man?
"If I appear a little—er—diffident, my lady, then you must forgive me and put it down to inexperience, and my desire not to be found wanting. I have not always been a groom, you see," he admitted, consoling himself with the knowledge that at least this much was true.
"What kind of work were you engaged in before?" she asked and, prepared, he was ready with the answer.
"I have performed many duties in my time, my lady. I was born in the country, and am quite accustomed to working with various animals, not just horses."
"A farm boy, eh?"
"Er—no, not quite, my lady. I was born on a large estate in Hampshire, and worked from time to time on the home farm when I was much younger."
How very interesting! Sophia mused, eyes narrowing as she studied the handsome profile, with its high, intelligent forehead, the faintly aquiline nose and the strong line of the square jaw. He might dress and vaguely sound like a yokel, but he was certainly no country bumpkin. Rustics didn't use words like "accustomed" and "diffident". There was far more to Master Benjamin Rudgely than met the eye!
"So, what prompted you to go to the West Indies, Ben?" Her voice was light, pleasantly conversational, yet Benedict could easily detect the note of keen interest barely concealed. Her curiosity, quite understandably, was well and truly roused, and he had every intention of satisfying her inquisitiveness with the truth as far as he dared.
"My old master ordered me to go, my lady. I cannot in truth say that I wished to leave England," he divulged, recalling his resentment quite clearly, "but I have to own that my time in Jamaica taught me a lot."
Although continuing to stare straight ahead, Benedict was well aware that he was being regarded rather closely. He waited for the next searching question, and was faintly surprised when she merely remarked that he must have observed many changes since his return.
"Some here in the capital, certainly. Many new buildings have been erected since I was last here. And, of course, you have the new gas lighting in this part of the city." He swiftly glimpsed a less impressive sight. "Some things, however, have not improved in the least."
Sophia followed the direction of his gaze in time to see a beadle chasing two poverty-stricken children round a corner into a side street. There were poor everywhere, but one tended to notice them particularly here in London, where the gap between the classes seemed even more marked. The authorities did their best to keep the streets in this part of the city free from beggars, but they were fighting a losing battle; there were just too many of them.
"London's shame," she murmured, experiencing a surge of sympathy.
"Mankind's shame," he corrected. "And mankind has a great deal of which it need be ashamed."
They had by this time reached the entrance to the park, and Benedict changed the subject by remarking how pleasant it was to have the place almost to themselves. His delightful companion wholeheartedly agreed, and he could easily detect the wistful note in her voice, and knew precisely what was passing through that delightfully wilful little head of hers.
"How unfortunate that it isn't permitted to enjoy a good gallop in the park!" He slanted a mocking glance as she turned startled eyes in his direction. "Oh, yes, my lady. Lowly groom I may be, but even I know that ladies are permitted to ride only at a sedate trot while in the capital."
"A timely reminder!" she exclaimed, gurgling with laughter. "How very glad I am that I have you to instruct me in how to go on." Those imps of mischief, always lurking beneath the surface, added a distinct sparkle to her eyes. "You missed your vocation in life, Benjamin Rudgely. You ought to have been a duenna."
He almost choked. How dared she suggest that he ally himself to that species which he had found an utter bane in his younger days! Her gurgle of laughter at his affronted expression quickly faded, and he turned his head in the direction of her suddenly perturbed gaze.
In the years he had spent abroad many of society's lesser personages had faded from his memory, but Benedict had little difficulty in recognising the lone figure approaching on a showy chestnut gelding.
He would have been the first to admit that he had never been, and possibly never would be, a paragon of all the virtues. He'd certainly been no angel in his younger days. Long sessions of drinking and gambling had not been, he was ashamed to say, rare occurrences. Nor had it been unusual to see him about the town with a ravishing beauty on his arm. His liaisons, if not precisely discreetly conducted, had without exception been with women of his own class or with those who knew the rules. He had never tampered with innocence, nor had any one of the ladies with whom he had enjoyed more intimate relations suffered as a consequence of her association with him. Which was a great deal more than could be said for several young women whose names had been linked with that of Sir Lucius Crawley.
One particularly unsavoury tale involving the Baronet instantly sprang into Benedict's mind. The young lady involved in the affair had come from a good family, and rumour had had it at the time that she was destined to come into a considerable sum of money upon her marriage. Soon after her arrival in town the poor girl had fallen under the destructive spell of Sir Lucius and had agreed to an elopement. Fortunately the young woman had not been without male protectors. Her uncle, in hot pursuit, had managed to overtake the runaways some twenty miles north of London and, certain that Sir Lucius had been nothing more than a fortune-hunter, had not hesitated to inform the Baronet that his niece would not inherit a penny unless she married with her family's consent. This, of course, had changed everything. Sir Lucius had returned to town, and the poor broken-hearted young woman had cast herself from an upper-storey window at her uncle's home a few days later and had died instantly.
Unfortunately that poor deluded girl was by no means the only fair damsel to suffer as a consequence of trusting the self-seeking Baronet. So it came as something of a relief to Benedict, as he fell back a few paces to allow Sir Lucius to manoeuvre his mount alongside Sophia's filly, to discover that his darling girl did not appear in the least susceptible to Sir Lucius's darkly brooding good looks, though she managed to greet him cordially enough by remarking that she was rather surprised to see him out and about at this time of day.
"Truth to tell, my lady, I do not make a habit of rising at this ungodly hour when residing in town," he admitted, his dark gaze devouring her every curve, and making Sophia thankful that she was wearing extra layers of clothing that morning. "But I was fortunate enough to overhear you mention to that pretty little friend of yours tha
t you intended riding early this morning, and could not let such a golden opportunity of furthering our acquaintance slip through my fingers."
So he was not above doing a spot of eavesdropping when it suited his purposes. And what was his intention? Sophia couldn't help wondering. Seduction? No, she doubted that very much. A womaniser he undoubtedly was, but he would not risk being ostracised by society by foolishly attempting to ruin the daughter of an earl.
She regarded him in silence for a moment, her gaze far less flattering than his own. Perhaps Lord Nicholas had been correct in his assumption, and Sir Lucius was once again contemplating matrimony. Perhaps he was even considering her as a possible candidate for the future Lady Crawley. If so, she would swiftly disabuse him. Not for the world would she ally herself to a person who would, she didn't doubt, in the years to come turn out to be a mirror image of that debauched roué the Marquis of Sywell!
"You flatter me, sir, but you should have saved yourself the trouble. I'm certain that our paths will cross from time to time during the forthcoming weeks."
This was not precisely the reaction to which he had grown accustomed over the years when paying a certain lady particular attention, but Sir Lucius was not deterred. Experience told him that Lady Sophia, for all her self-possessed air, was a complete innocent when it came to the gentle art of dalliance. Added to which, he had always found the chase far more exciting than the inevitable surrender, and knew that he would attain the utmost pleasure in taming this spirited little minx and bending her to his will.
"And I would consider it a great favour," Sophia continued, disliking the way he continued to. regard her, like some ravenous dog drooling over a bone, "if you did not make it generally known that I prefer to take my exercise at this time of day, sir. My morning rides are sacrosanct periods when I can enjoy a little solitude."
A deep masculine rumble, only partially suppressed, reached her ears, and it took every ounce of self-control Sophia possessed not to laugh outright herself when Sir Lucius swung round in the saddle to cast her highly amused groom a darkling look. She knew she ought to take Ben roundly to task for riding so close and shamelessly listening to every word of the conversation, but she had no intention of doing so, now or later, for she sensed that as long as Benjamin Rudgely was at hand she need never fear a man of Sir Lucius Crawley's stamp.
"I sincerely trust that you do not consider my presence this morning an intrusion, my lady," the Baronet said smoothly, though he couldn't quite disguise his lingering annoyance at the insulting servant's behaviour. "You were certainly not averse to my company last night, as I recall."
Sophia silently cursed herself for every kind of fool for paying Sir Lucius particular attention at the Strattans' ball. She had known that it would be a mistake to dance with him a second time, and yet she had foolishly done so, simply because earlier in the evening she had glimpsed an expression on her father's face that informed her clearly enough that he did not approve.
Although her experience of men most certainly was not vast, some inner feminine wisdom warned her that Sir Lucius could be a dangerous man if crossed, and one, moreover, who would not take kindly to being made to look a fool. So it would be far better, surely, she decided quickly, to make her feelings clear now, rather than allow further misunderstandings to occur in the future. Yet, for some obscure reason, and for the life of her she couldn't understand why, she just didn't want Ben to know how very foolish she had been to offer a man of Sir Lucius's reputation encouragement, minimal though it had been.
They had by this time reached a very secluded area of the park. "Shall we stroll for a while?" she suggested, drawing rein by a clump of trees, and slipping lightly to the ground before either Ben or Sir Lucius could assist her.
She did not notice the disapproving look that flickered in a pair of alert blue eyes as she wandered beneath the canopy of branches, but Sir Lucius most certainly did, and it gave him a deal of satisfaction to order the groom to remain with the horses.
Coming to a halt by a sturdy elm, Sophia waited for Sir Lucius to join her. "I believe I owe you an apology, sir," she announced, coming straight to the point and sounding far more composed than she was in fact feeling. She had not meant to walk quite so far, and Ben seemed a disturbingly long way away.
"Apologise, my dear?" Sir Lucius, his eyes glinting with satisfaction, and with something far more disturbing that Sophia didn't choose to define, took a step closer. "Apologise for what, pray? You have done me no disservice," he purred silkily. "Quite the contrary, I assure you."
Sophia instinctively took a step away, only to find her back pressed against the trunk of the elm. What had seemed quite a simple task a few minutes ago had assumed alarming proportions. Sir Lucius was no easily managed callow youth whose desires could be suppressed by a few well-chosen words. He was a master at the art of dalliance; undoubtedly a man whose success with women over the years prompted him to pursue a particular quarry remorselessly if given sufficient reason to suppose that his attentions would not in the end be wholly unwelcome. And hadn't she foolishly offered him sufficient encouragement already by leading him to this secluded spot?
He confirmed her worst fears by moving a step nearer and placing one shapely hand on the trunk by her head. Faint-hearted she had never been, not even as a child, and it would have afforded her the utmost satisfaction to administer a resounding box round the ears when he lowered his eyes and unashamedly contemplated the bodice of her habit. She didn't suppose for a moment that an assurance from her that she was completely indifferent to him would be believed, and she began to wonder just how she could manage to extricate herself from this embarrassing predicament when she clearly detected the sound of a twig snapping nearby.
Sir Lucius heard it too, and swung round sharply. Unlike Sophia, it was not profound relief that he was experiencing at discovering the groom standing a matter of three feet away, as he betrayed clearly enough by his rasping demand to know what he thought he was doing. "I believe I told you to remain with the horses," he growled between clenched teeth.
"You did," Benedict confirmed smoothly and, as far as Sophia could detect, completely unperturbed by the Baronet's display of hostility. If he betrayed anything at all, it was a trace of exasperation when he glanced briefly in her direction. "But might I remind you that I'm not your lackey and, therefore, am not prepared to take orders from you."
Then everything happened so quickly that Sophia could only utter a startled gasp in dismay. Sir Lucius, cursing under his breath, raised his crop, but Ben easily warded off the blow aimed at his shoulder, and a second later delivered a powerful hit to the jaw which had the Baronet sprawling on the ground.
"What the devil's going on here?" an authoritative and very familiar voice demanded to know, and Sophia, utterly stunned by what had taken place, was unable to believe the evidence of her own eyes as she saw her elder brother stalking purposefully towards them.
If she had possessed the power to make herself invisible she most certainly would have made good use of it. She didn't suppose for a moment that Marcus honestly required an explanation, and as her tongue seemed to have decided to attach itself to the roof of her mouth, she found herself completely unequal to the task of offering any.
She watched as her brother's astute gaze went from Ben, who looked ready, and more than willing, to repeat his actions of a few moments before, to Sir Lucius who, still appearing slightly dazed, was making an attempt to rise.
"Allow me to assist you, Crawley," he said, only to have his helping hand thrust irritably aside.
"You'll permit me to inform you, Angmering," Sir Lucius remarked, when he was at last on his feet again, and doing his best to repair his slightly dishevelled appearance by brushing the leaves from his jacket, "that your father's choice of servants leaves much to be desired."
"So it would seem," Marcus responded, glancing once again in the groom's direction. "None the less, you'll allow me to point out, Crawley, that we are not in the habit of whipping
our people. From what I observed, this man reacted in self-defence. So might I suggest that we forget the whole unfortunate incident and go our separate ways before we attract the attention of the vulgarly curious."
Sophia realised by Sir Lucius's suddenly alert expression as he gazed about him that her shrewd brother had said precisely the right thing. The Baronet's temper might be hasty, he might even enjoy the notoriety his amorous exploits had brought him over the years, but she doubted very much that he would risk being ostracised by the Ton by making a vulgar spectacle of himself in a public place. There had been no one in sight a few minutes before. This, however, was no longer the case, for a small cluster of riders was now heading down the path in their direction.
"You are quite right, of course, Angmering." Swooping to retrieve his hat, which still lay among the leaves, Crawley cast an unmistakably vindictive glance in the groom's direction. "I just hope my memory proves as amenable as yours," and with that, and the briefest of nods, he was gone.
"Now perhaps you'll be good enough to inform me what the deuce that was all about!" Marcus demanded, easily detecting his sister's faint sigh of relief.
Ten years her senior he may have been, but Sophia had never been in awe of her frequently abrupt elder brother. Flashing him a look from beneath her lashes, which informed him clearly enough that she was beginning to regain her equilibrium and was not best pleased with his cavalier attitude, she turned to Ben, who continued to appear quite remarkably unconcerned in the circumstances. "You return to Berkeley Square now. My brother, I'm sure, will see me safely home. And, Ben," she added softly, when he turned to go. "Thank you."
"Who the deuce is that fellow, Sophie?" Marcus was not slow to enquire once Ben was safely out of earshot. "Strangely enough he reminds me of someone, but for the life of me I cannot think who it can be." He shook his head as though dismissing it from his mind. "And why wasn't Clem with you?"
"Clem has left us to work for someone else. My new groom's name is Benjamin Rudgely."