Wallflower Most Wanted--A Studies in Scandal Novel

by Manda Collins

  “What is it, Sophia?” Gemma asked, her eyes worried. Clearly Sophia had been quiet for too long.

  Instead of answering her, Sophia flipped quickly through the other works leaning against the ottoman.

  What she saw made her heart race. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she knew what she saw with her own eyes.

  “These are all forgeries,” she said, a sense of unreality washing over her. “They are all forgeries of paintings that are known to be missing or lost.”

  Chapter 16

  Ben was bone tired when he left the Framingham house, where he’d spent the better part of the afternoon consoling the grieving wife and children of the murdered man.

  It was never easy to console a family who had lost a loved one unexpectedly, but this was different from his experience thus far as a minister. He’d never before had to explain to a wife that her husband had died not by an accident or illness, but by another man’s hand. He would never forget as long as he lived the sound of Lucy Framingham’s shriek when he informed her that her husband was dead. And then, again when she learned it was murder. He’d been a bit more circumspect with the children, who were too young to understand much beyond the fact that their father had gone to heaven. But their sadness and puzzlement had been, in its way, as affecting as their mother’s reaction.

  Fortunately, Mrs. Framingham’s sister and her husband lived in Little Seaford, and were able to come take control of things in the aftermath of the master of the house’s death, and he was able to leave secure in the knowledge that he’d done what he could for them.

  And always in the back of his mind as he interacted with the dead man’s family was the note he’d received that morning when he and Cam had returned to the vicarage from Beauchamp House.

  It was dark as he took the reins of his horse from the stable boy he’d paid to hold him, and almost without intending it, he found himself steering Gabriel toward Beauchamp House. Even if it was just for a moment, he needed to see Sophia before he would be able to sleep tonight. And after witnessing the agony the Framingham family was enduring, he needed to assure himself that she was safe and secure and away from whatever ugliness was lurking in Little Seaford.

  Despite the late hour, a groom was at the ready to take Gabriel’s reins. Ben was composing his explanation to Greaves for the late call, but was surprised when the butler opened the door before he even reached the landing.

  “Lord Benedick,” the butler said, bowing. “Is something amiss? Has something happened?”

  Belatedly, Ben realized that the household hadn’t exactly been a stranger to death and destruction over the last year.

  “I apologize for alarming you, Mr. Greaves,” he said with genuine regret. “As far as I know, the duke and Lord Kerr are in good health. I am here to see Miss Hastings, I’m afraid.”

  But the butler’s expression did not brighten. “Something has happened to her parents. I’ll have both Miss Hastings and Miss Gemma come downstairs and see you in the drawing room.”

  Dash it, he was making a mull of this. “No, no, nothing like that, Greaves.”

  Ben rubbed a hand over his face as the butler stared at him.

  “I simply wished to assure myself that Miss Hastings is well. That’s all. I realize it’s unusual, and possibly inappropriate, but you must have heard about what happened in the village today…”

  He let his voice trial off, hoping the man would see his exhaustion and take pity on him.

  To his relief, Greaves’ eyes shone with understanding. And something else Ben wasn’t able to interpret. “Of course, my lord. Of course. The ladies are in Miss Hastings’ art studio at present and I’m sure they will be happy to see you.”

  At the news Sophia was surrounded by her sister and friends, he almost demurred and left. The prospect of greeting a room full of inquisitive ladies was more than he was ready to face. But nor was he prepared to leave without at the very least laying eyes on Sophia.

  So it was that he found himself following the aging butler upstairs to the attic art studio. After Greaves knocked briskly, he stepped inside and announced Ben, and Ben was relieved to see that only Sophia was there. She was on the settee where she’d been when he and Freddie visited her before. Only this time instead of her own paintings she had a stack of unfamiliar ones arrayed on the floor and ottoman next to her.

  “Ben,” she said, her voice revealing her surprise and a husky note that indicated she might have been napping. “I know you said you’d come speak to me, but I thought you’d been too involved with the magistrate or Mrs. Framingham.”

  With the silence and discretion that were the hallmarks of a good servant, Greaves slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Unable to stop himself, Ben gathered her into his arms, and somehow ended up with Sophia in his lap, his face buried in her neck

  “I hope this is all right,” he said, leaning his cheek against her bosom. “I just … I needed you.”

  * * *

  But Sophia didn’t protest. She simply held him. And stroked her hand over his back. Offering the comfort he so desperately needed.

  “Was it very bad?” she asked softly. “You don’t have to tell me. I know it was.”

  He lifted his head and leaned back against the settee. “I’ve ministered to the grieving before. Many times. It’s never easy, but nor is it entirely without some sort of optimism. Even if it’s just that their loved one is no longer suffering. Or will be with God. But I’ve never had to tell a woman her husband has been murdered.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Sophia said, now leaning her head on his chest. “You’re a good man. To do this job that not everyone would be able to do.”

  He laughed at that. He couldn’t help it. “It was the church or the army. And I have no stomach for war. I may have chosen the church because I had some idea that I liked helping people. But it’s a bit different in practice than it was in my imagination. I did go with my mother to visit the tenants on my father’s estate. But for the most part, they welcomed us. That’s not always the case with the vicar. Nor is it as easy as bringing a basket of food and going on my way.”

  “But that’s why it’s so admirable,” Sophia said, lifting up so that she could look him in the eye. “You know how difficult it is. How thankless it can be. And you do it anyway. You look after the members of your parish—both those who attend services and those who don’t—and you do it without seeking thanks or accolades. You do it because it’s your job. But also because it’s the right thing to do.”

  He saw the admiration in her eyes, and shook his head. “Don’t make a saint of me, Sophia. I’m a man. Nothing more. I do the job I’ve been called to do. But I am not without flaws. Without sin.”

  At that she gave a saucy smile, and he was suddenly reminded of the impropriety of their pose. And how good it felt to have her soft curves pressed up against him.

  “I never said you were a saint, vicar,” she said softly. “In fact, I’m rather hoping you aren’t. Because I would like it very much if you kissed me again.”

  “Would you, indeed?” His gaze went to her lips, pink and full and inviting. He’d have to be a bloody saint to ignore that invitation.

  “I would,” she said, and before he could make the decision himself, she leaned in and kissed him, just a meeting of mouths. But enough to give him a taste of what was to come. Pulling back just a fraction, she said against his lips, “But I’m happy to do it for you.”

  His exhaustion, which had so lately hung upon him like a pall, disappeared at the taste of her mouth on his. Curious, and eager to see what she’d do, he let her explore. Savored every nibble of her teeth on his lower lip, then when her tongue dipped into the seam of his lips and prodded for entrance, felt the caress echoed in his groin. Unable to hold back, he opened to her questing mouth and took the lead, lifting his hand to hold her head to his, taking the kiss from an exploration to something more carnal. They molded themselves together, as if any breath of air betwe
en their bodies was the difference between life and death. And Ben felt his hunger for her rising, as he cupped her generous breast in his hand, and felt her gasp at the caress.

  He would have liked nothing more than to take her here, now, and give them both the release they so desperately needed. He was certain it would be good, and he was sure now—whether Sophia knew it or not—that she was the woman he wanted for his wife. But something about the moment, perhaps that little gasp when he stroked his thumb over the peak of her breast, brought him back to reality. And unfortunately, reality meant that they had to stop.

  Reluctantly, with a strength he had doubted he had within himself, he pulled his head back and said her name.

  “Sophia.” Deprived of his mouth, she’d simply moved on to his neck. “Sophia, stop.”

  He felt the moment she heard the note of firmness in his voice. She stilled, and pulled back a little to look at him.

  “We have to stop,” he said, breathing hard even as the words left him. “We must stop now or I won’t be able to.”

  Ben watched as her eyes went from drowsy with passion to a level of alertness that was admirable given the situation.

  Wordlessly, she climbed off of him, and sat a few inches away from him. She spent a few seconds smoothing the skirts of her deep blue gown, though they hadn’t really gotten to the point where it was an issue.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice sounding rough to his own ears.

  “If you apologize for despoiling me or some other such nonsense, Lord Benedick Lisle,” she said in a tone of warning, “I don’t know what I’ll do. But you won’t like it.”

  He laughed a little at her fierceness, and the hint of frustration in her voice that echoed his own. “I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear.” He lifted her hand and kissed the center of her palm. “I am sorry we had to stop, but I am not sorry for what just happened.”

  She was silent for a moment, before she turned to look at him. As if to gauge the truth of his words. What she saw must have satisfied her because she gave a nod of agreement. “Good. Because I’m not sorry for what happened either.”

  “Then we are in agreement,” he said with a smile.

  Not quite ready to leave yet, but needing something to spark a change in subject, his eye fell on the paintings that had been strewn around her when he came in. “What are all these?” he asked, indicating with a jerk of his head he meant the artwork. “That doesn’t look like one of yours.”

  At his words, Sophia let out a gasp. “Oh! I almost forgot. Ben, I think these are some of the forgeries. We found them in the cabinet here in the studio. I believe Lady Celeste was purchasing them to keep them off the market.”

  For the second time that evening, his fatigue evaporated.

  “Tell me everything.”

  Chapter 17

  “I’m happy to come with you, my dear,” Ivy told Sophia the next morning as they finished up breakfast.

  Greaves had just informed the assembled ladies of the house that Squire Northman, the magistrate for this county, had arrived to question Sophia about the murder of Mr. Framingham.

  Not long after she told Ben about the cache of forged paintings they’d found in the studio, he’d taken his leave with the promise to come back this morning. He hadn’t yet arrived, however.

  Even so, Sophia was prepared to answer the man’s questions as thoroughly as she could. The memory of the dead man was still fresh in her mind, and she’d even awoken twice in the night in a cold sweat thanks to it.

  “I believe I can manage,” she told Ivy with a smile. “Though I appreciate the offer. I know both you and Daphne have had your own moments with the Squire.”

  “I was a suspect at one point,” Daphne pointed out, as she buttered her toast. “Northman is not the most pleasant of men, but he is persuadable when the truth is there to lay out before him. I believe he is a bit frightened of Maitland, though. It’s a shame he isn’t here to go into the interview with you. He was most useful during mine.”

  Sophia rather thought Maitland had been so fierce with Northman because he was in love with Daphne, but she didn’t point that out to her friend.

  Instead, she rose, with the aid of her walking stick. “I’m sure it will be routine. I barely knew the man and from all appearances he was already dead while I was in the gallery. So, there’s nothing to be concerned about.”

  She wasn’t sure if she was reassuring her friends or herself.

  Just as she neared the door of the breakfast room, Gemma came barreling up. “I overslept,” she said, slightly breathless and looking as if she’d dressed hastily. It was unusual for the always punctual Gemma to be late for anything. “I haven’t missed breakfast, have I?”

  “You haven’t,” Sophia said, hiding her smile at her sister’s unusual state. “But I’m off to meet with the magistrate. I’ll see you later in the morning.”

  At the mention of Northman, Gemma’s eyes snapped to attention. “Do you wish me to go with you?”

  Sophia gave a lusty sigh. “Why is it that everyone thinks I need a keeper with me so that I might answer a few questions from the magistrate? I’m hardly infirm or lacking intellect.”

  “Of course you aren’t, dearest,” said Gemma putting a hand on her arm. “But you were overset last night. And the Squire has a tendency to be a bit unscrupulous when he asks his questions. You’re the most, well, tender of us. I simply don’t wish him to cause you discomfort.”

  Did they really see her that way? Sophia wondered. It was true perhaps that of the four heiresses she was the most soft-hearted. But she wasn’t one to weep at the drop of a hat, or to become tearful at the least provocation. She saw herself as rather practical and unemotional. It was rather jarring to think that her sister and friends saw her any differently.

  She was saved from further speculation on the matter by the arrival of Greaves followed by Ben, who despite the late hour of his departure the evening before looked well rested and handsome in his form-fitting trousers and pristine cravat.

  “Lord Benedick has arrived, Miss Hastings,” said Greaves rather needlessly, given that Sophia could see the man with her own eyes.

  “Yes, thank you, Greaves,” she told the butler nevertheless. One thing she could count on, at the very least, was Greaves’ scrupulous attention to protocol.

  “I believe Squire Northman is here to question you?” Ben asked, only a fleeting intensity in his gaze indicating that he remembered as vividly as Sophia did their encounter in the studio the evening before. But the next instance he was all politeness and manners. “May I sit in with you? It will perhaps be easier for him to question us both at the same time. And I can offer you some support.”

  Sophia purposely ignored the look of smugness on her sister’s face, then let Ben take her arm.

  In a low voice as they made their way to the drawing room, he asked, “Are you well this morning? Yesterday was quite exhausting and I know your ankle was paining you last night.”

  Sophia made a noise of impatience. “I wish everyone would stop treating me as if I am made of cotton floss. I am perfectly capable of enduring a trying day. And while my injury still aches a bit, it is nothing I cannot handle.”

  Her voice rose as she spoke, and to her embarrassment she realized she’d nearly been shouting by the end.

  If she was afraid he’d be offended, however, she was mistaken.

  Ben laughed and pulled her arm closer to him. “I can see I’ll need to have more respect for your strong will, Sophia. I forgot for a moment that you were unlike any other lady of my acquaintance. Forgive me?”

  The apology was said so sweetly she couldn’t reject it without seeming churlish. “Yes, I forgive you,” she said crossly. “And I suppose I’m sorry for ripping up at you. It’s just that everyone seems to think I’m some simpering artist who wears her every emotion on her sleeve.”

  “I don’t think that,” he said sincerely. “And I daresay your sister and your friends don’t think that either. They�
�re just concerned for you after yesterday’s ordeal. And they wish to help you. It’s what we do for the people we love.”

  She supposed he was right. Then, realizing what he’d said, she asked, with a sideways look, “Am I unlike the other ladies of your acquaintance?”

  “Most certainly,” he said without hesitation. Then, in a lower voice, he added, “I don’t wish to kiss them until they make the little greedy noises you made last night.”

  At the reminder of her response to him the night before, and his to her, Sophia felt her entire body suffuse with heat.

  Then, as luck would have it, they were at the door to the drawing room.

  He gave her a knowing grin, the wretch, before opening the door and ushering her inside.

  Squire Northman, a gruff, no-nonsense leader of the local gentry, at whose home Sophia and the other heiresses had dined on a number of occasions, was today in his magistrate guise. That is to say, he was his usual self only more intimidating. He’d been accompanied by his secretary, who, Sophia knew from past experience, took notes during these interviews.

  “It’s about time, Miss Hastings,” he said without preamble as Sophia, followed by Ben, entered the room. “I’ve been cooling my heels for a quarter of an hour or more. I know you ladies take your time dressing, but this is serious business.”

  ‘Good morning to you, too, Mr. Northman,” Sophia said without referring to his complaint. “I hope you won’t mind, but I’ve a twisted ankle and will need to sit for this interview.”

  It was both a way of putting him in the position of behaving like a gentleman rather than a lawman, and also a way for her to get off her ankle, which had begun to throb.

  Looking somewhat chastened, the older man nodded. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. M’wife tells me I’m rag-mannered at times. Please sit, Miss Hastings.”

  As she took a seat in the large wingback chair near the window overlooking the garden, the magistrate turned to Ben, who had been silent thus far.