Together, the three Radcliffs, arm in arm, marched forth.
Noting the dust on the hall table, Sophia made a mental note to clean the second floor common areas, as soon as she had a chance. In the sorely neglected gallery, she ignored the tattered rugs, and as they descended the stairs, she deplored the unpolished bannister and newel post, but she was only one person, and Saelmere Park once boasted a household staff of fifty domestics. Now, she could count their number on one hand.
That was the cruelest part of their adversity and misfortune. The loss. She recalled the more prosperous times, when she knew not of the importance of money. It was not the difficult aspects of their less than affluent existence—not how she lived, in the moment, in relative poverty on the verge of insolvency and beneath the threat of debtor’s prison, which hurt so much. Rather, it was the past, as manifested by all the wonderful reminisces of an opulent, bygone era.
At the door to the study, she kissed her brother and her sister and gave them another hug, before she knocked and entered the man’s domain. “You summoned me, Papa?”
“Ah, here she is, now.” Given his desk held pride of place between two large windows, and faced the exit, the chairs situated before him afforded no view of her caller. “Come in, my dear.” He stood and met her halfway. “I am sure you remember Mr. Stryker, from America?”
In that moment, her world pitched and rolled beneath her feet, as the enigmatic foreigner rose and turned to smile at her. Garbed in an impeccable coat of grey Bath superfine, a navy blue waistcoat, a pristine cravat with a diamond twinkling at the center, buckskin breeches, polished Hessians, and his thick black hair tied back with a leather thong, she lamented her threadbare morning dress, in comparison to his refinement.
Indeed, he looked every bit a proper gentleman.
But there was something dark in his blue eyes that gave her pause, and she wondered about his history, as she suspected he was not what he appeared.
“Lady Sophia, it is remarkably pleasing to see you again.” As he took her hand in his, and pressed his lips to her bare knuckles, a shiver of unease traipsed her spine. “I was just talking with your father about our enlightening discussion, last night, and I made an offer I hope you will not refuse.”
“So, it is true?” She gulped. “You wish to marry me?”
“Sophia Grace, do not be impertinent.” Papa wagged a finger. “Mr. Stryker would first speak with you, and he brings a chest, the contents of which he gifts in exchange for your acceptance.”
“What is in it?” she asked, with a hint of skepticism and a mountain of reservation.
“Not so fast, Lady Sophia.” With a sly half-smile, Mr. Stryker clasped his hands behind him and inspected her from top to toe, as he circled her. “How old are you?”
“Eight and ten.” To her unmitigated disgust, he cupped her chin and drew down her bottom lip, with his thumb, presumably to check her teeth, and she was tempted to bite him.
“And you remain intact?” He inclined his head, as he stared at her bosom, and she crossed her arms in front of her.
“I beg your pardon?” She peered at her father. “What does he mean, Papa?”
“Er—Mr. Stryker, my daughter is wholly unspoiled.” From his coat pocket, he drew a handkerchief and daubed his brow. “Sophia comes to you as a virgin.”
“How dare you question my character in such a vulgar fashion.” She retreated behind a small sofa. “Have you no sense of decency, sir? Do you think so little of me?”
“On the contrary, and forgive me, Lady Sophia, as I intended no insult.” What she would give to slap the smug expression from his chiseled features. “But the price I pay is dependent upon the receipt of an untouched bride.”
“It must be pretty steep, given your demands.” And to think she thought him nice, at the Oswald’s party. “What do you propose, sir?”
“Open the chest and find out the amount I am willing to compensate your father, for you.” He stuck his tongue in his cheek, and she did as he requested.
Gold.
Countless pieces of shimmering brilliance filled the trunk, and she almost swooned.
“You cannot be serious.” She bent and sifted through the veritable fortune. “It is too much.”
“I will decide what is too much, Sophia.” Papa ushered Mr. Stryker to the door. “If you will give me a minute with my daughter, I would speak with her and gain her response to your most generous offer, while you wait in the drawing room, which is down the hall and across the foyer.”
“Of course, Lord Ferrers.” Mr. Stryker glanced at her and winked, and she gave him her back. To her indignation, he chuckled.
Then she spotted Gabriel and Wilhelmine in the window, and Sophia crossed the study and threw up the sash. “What are you doing?”
“We are part of this family.” Gabriel lifted Wilhelmine over the ledge, and then he followed her. “We have a say, too.”
“And I want Sophia to stay here.” Wilhelmine pouted and clutched Sophia’s hand. “She is my only sister, and I need her.”
“What in bloody hell do you two think you are about?” Father rested hands on hips. “This is none of your affair.”
“Do not do this, Father.” Gabriel halted when he spotted the gold. “Is this what he pays for my sister?”
As her family argued, Sophia studied the cache and considered her options.
A plaything, a doll, a toy subject to the whims of men, to be taken out, dressed in finery, and trotted out for the delectation of society, there was not much she could do to free herself from the constraints inflicted upon her by those who would protect her. Yet she could do something. Something that mattered, if only for a brief moment. From her vantage, she had only one real choice.
Given her father’s bad habits, her world dwindled, and it grew smaller with each passing day. Trapped in a quandary not of her making, she held the solution to all their worries in her hands, and the minute taste of power emboldened her.
“Gabriel, it will enable me to settle our outstanding accounts. We can hire more help, buy a new coach, purchase new furnishings, eat beef every Sunday, and host the most marvelous parties.” Papa scratched his chin. “Perhaps, if I am lucky at cards, I can double it.”
“Papa, no.” Clenching and unclenching her fists, she bared her teeth. “If I do this, you must promise you will never again step inside a gambling hall, else I will summon Mr. Stryker, and have him retrieve his chest of gold.”
Her father furrowed his brow. “But, Sophia, I would—”
“Also, you will set aside a sum for Wilhelmine’s dowry, so you can secure a good match, and for Gabriel’s education.” Myriad thoughts filled her brain, as she stared at the mesmerizing fortune. “Further, I will calculate a monthly allowance, which you may not exceed, and the rest we will deposit, as it is unwise to keep such riches in the house.”
“All right.” Father frowned. “You have my word, as a gentleman, I will honor your stipulations, if you inform Mr. Stryker that you will marry him.”
Without a word, Sophia walked to the door, turned the knob, swung wide the oak panel, and stepped into the hall. Clinging to the last vestiges of courage, she marched into the drawing room, whereupon her future husband stood from an overstuff chair.
“Mr. Stryker, I apologize for keeping you waiting so long.” It was now or never, and she inhaled a deep breath. “I accept your offer and will wed you, at your earliest convenience.”
THE MAROONER
CHAPTER TWO
In the sennight since Lady Sophia accepted Leland’s proposal, he made a round of boring engagements, enduring afternoon teas, evening musicales, and country dances, during which one woman after another inflicted a series of tortures not even the most ruthless pirate could best, and he ached to end the ridiculous farce and embark on a relentless seduction of his bride-to-be. Yet, to secure his unsuspecting prey, he dressed as a peacock, tamed his unruly hair, and adopted an air of polite refinement, but he was not sure how much longer he cou
ld maintain the fiction.
Even as he loomed in the foyer at the Barty’s, all he could think about was the temptation Sophia’s lips presented. Growing impatient, he paced, until she appeared on the entrance steps.
Bedecked in a rich green gown of his selection, which featured a low-cut bodice, with a matching emerald necklace, ear bobs, and bracelet pilfered from his stash of not so honorably procured treasures, with a single glance his fiancée reminded him why he continued the charade. Indeed, there was little he would not do to have her in his bed.
“Someone is besotted, as he looms in his gentleman’s garb.” Barrington elbowed Leland and snickered. “And how lovely she looks, unwittingly adorned in stolen buccaneer booty.”
“Tell me something, my marauding friend.” Sophia peered at Leland and smiled, as she navigated the receiving line, and he nodded an acknowledgement. “What is it like to have your whore’s pipe blown by a woman in possession of all her teeth?”
“That was low, even by your standards.” Despite the polished finesse and title, Barrington, known in social circles as the marquess of Ravenwood, spent five years on the run for a murder he did not commit, yet he enacted countless ruthless deeds as the Iron Corsair, a vicious raider of notorious renown, while eluding capture. “And do not abuse my wife, as Florence has been naught but kind to you.”
“Indeed, she has been the soul of charity.” Leland admired Lady Florence, an uncommonly kind society bird absent the usual ramrod up her arse. “So, does she accommodate your more…lecherous nature, and if she does, how does she?”
“You know, my friend, it would be a shame to kill you, when you have only just plucked your own precious flower.” Barrington leaned near. “However, one thing you have yet to discover is that when your bride gifts you her heart, the other more delectable parts perforce follow, and she will do whatever you ask of her, denying naught, because she loves you.”
“Is that the way the wind blows?” The mere suggestion of love provoked a wicked shudder of disgust, as Leland had no intention of surrendering to the sentimental whims born of useless emotion. “Sure it is not what lies between her thighs that drives your passion? Have you defiled her highborn arse?”
“One more insult, and I will slit your throat.” Barrington shifted his weight and scowled. “I do not care that we are friends.”
To wit Leland burst into laughter.
“All right.” He splayed his palms. “I yield.” Then he checked his tone. “But I cannot wait to split my lady’s bottom cheeks and sail her windward passage.”
“You should guard your words and protect her reputation.” Barrington shook his head. “I feared this would not work, and your behavior suggests I was right to be concerned. Do you not understand that, as her husband, your primary charge is to defend her?”
“Aye.” Anxious, Leland shuffled his feet, as Sophia paused to greet another guest. “And I was just having a bit of fun, before I run amok, because all this pomp and civility, which is nothing but a thinly disguised veil of lies no less savage than my former occupation, grates my last nerve. Give me a bottle of grog and a whorehouse, where life is far more simple and honest, and I am happy.”
“In that I cannot argue, given I have persisted in this organized chaos, from birth.” Barrington cast a lopsided grin. “But you would never find a woman of Lady Sophia’s quality in a whorehouse. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I shall search out my marchioness and whisper naughty suggestions in her ear.”
“There you have me, and that sounds like a worthwhile endeavor.” Just then, Leland’s delectable target approached, and he stood tall. “Good evening, Lady Sophia.”
“Mr. Stryker, it is a pleasure.” Oh, it was definitely his pleasure, and he savored a glimpse of her tantalizing bosom, amply displayed, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face between her breasts. She toyed with the necklace he sent and favored him with a shy smile. “Thank you, for the jewelry. These are the most beautiful gems I have ever seen or owned, but you really should not have done it, as you have given me so much, already.”
“Why must you always apologize for something you enjoy?” The practice irritated him to no end. “Why can you not just express gratitude for the things I give you? Is that not the proper way to accept a present?”
“Forgive me, as I meant no offense.” Crestfallen, her answering frown inflicted far worse agony than a machete-wielding barbarian. “Since you know of my father’s financial situation, then you might understand when I say I am unaccustomed to receiving such lavish gifts, but these baubles mean more to me than you will ever know, because they are from you.” She glanced from side to side. “For the past ten years, our lives went from bad to worse, and I sold my most prized possessions, cherished heirlooms and keepsakes far more precious to me due to their sentimental value, for a mere pittance of their actual worth, to appease my father’s creditors. And I scrimped and saved every penny, to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, such that there was nothing left for luxuries. Believe me, I hold dear the jewels.”
“I am so sorry, Sophia.” Had he thought her strong? In truth, she was formidable. “It would seem I erred again, as my clumsy attempt to tease you, much like my poorly executed joke, when I checked your teeth that afternoon in your father’s study as I announced my suit, has only caused you distress.”
“But the fault is mine, as I should have known you would not be so cruel, after our conversation at the Oswald’s.” To his delight, she settled her palm in the crook of his elbow, and he led her toward the ballroom. “I promise, I will try to adjust to your lifestyle.”
That might take more than she realized, given she had no idea of the truth behind his polite façade, and Leland was in no hurry to reveal his genuine nature. At the moment, he just wanted to get her alone.
“You know, I was told the Barty’s have a large terrace, and it is awfully warm in here.” He tugged at his deuced cravat. Of all the useless garb he wore, as a pirate in sheep’s clothing, the yard-length of linen wrapped about his neck mystified him, as it served no purpose, other than to choke him. “What say we venture outside?”
“But, it is not acceptable without a chaperone.” Despite her pathetic protest, he navigated the maze of halls, in search of privacy. “Mr. Stryker, you are leading us down a path to ruin.”
“Do you not think it past due for you to call me Leland, given we are to wed?” And then he would strip her naked and violate her in every way possible. “And I will call you Sophia, as what use are titles between a husband and his wife?”
“With that I cannot object, but we are not yet married, thus you cannot take liberties.” Oh, he planned to take plenty of liberties, if only he could find the bloody terrace doors, as she dug in her heels, and he scooted her along, with a gentle nudge. “Please, Leland.”
“I like it when you beg me.” And she would utter that particular phrase, again and again, as he invaded and pillaged her honey harbor.
A gathering of hens loitered near a rear exit, exchanging derisive gossip, and he swore under his breath and pulled Sophia into a nearby alcove.
“Did you see that gown Lady Sophia is wearing?”
“She looks more like a London courtesan than a woman of quality and breeding, not that I know of such creatures.”
“Can you blame her, given she settled for an American merchant?”
“Well, in all fairness, he has money, which her family needs, by the boatload.”
“And it is not as though anyone else would have her.”
“I heard even Lord Egremont refused her, and he was thought to be smitten with her.”
“Perhaps, only an uncivilized Yankee could afford her.”
“Then I suppose Lady Sophia will get her just reward, as you know what they say. When you marry for money, you earn every penny of it.”
“And I wager she will do so on her back.”
In that instant, Leland would have given anything to unleash his men on the perfumed pack of hye
nas, and he would have marooned them, true to his reputation, on a deserted island, where they would, no doubt, eat each other.
When he checked his lady, he discovered tears rolling down her cheeks, and he cupped her chin. He was not sure why he did it, but then and there he kissed her.
The gesture, more an attempt to comfort than seduce, began as a gentle communion of flesh but quickly grew into something more, as she splayed her hands to his chest and backed him against the wall. Driven by unmasked desperation, she parted her sumptuous lips, and he plundered the warm, inviting enclave of her mouth and twined his tongue with hers, which garnered a soft moan.
Without thought, he skimmed his palms along her enticing peaks and valleys and fondled the twin swells of her bottom. It was then she ended their heated rendezvous, a countenance of shock marring her beautiful features, and he drew her into his arms.
“I want to go home,” she whispered.
“Shh.” He nipped the crest of her ear. “Dry your tears, because you will never let them see you cry, and let us rejoin the party, as we will never run from those gotch-gutted brassers and their short-heeled lasses, who could not buy a husband for all the money in the world.”
“What is a brasser?” Sophia blinked, as she daubed her face with a lace-edged handkerchief. “And, although I gather it is not a compliment, what is a short-heeled lass?”
“You really want to know?” He arched a brow and chuckled when she nodded. “A brasser is a cheap whore, and a short-heeled lass is a girl most likely to spend the better portion of her days and nights on her back.”
“Oh.” She clutched her throat. “That really is not very charitable, Mr. Stryker.”
“No, it is not, and I did not intend it as such, given they showed you no consideration.” He trailed a finger along the curve of her cheek. “But they are as much for sale as anything else in this house of deception, because more than one of those cackling hens offered their daughters to me.” He resettled her at his side. “Now, let us confront the enemy.”
The Marooner (Pirates of the Coast Book 3) Page 2