Moriah Densley

by Song For Sophia

  His vision flashed between black and red. Oh yes, Vorlay was a dead man.

  Only years of battlefield discipline kept his curses silent and his teeth clenched when his every instinct urged him into a rage. He would take the bastard apart, piece by bloody piece, beginning with his stunted, putrid cock. Wilhelm would feed it to Vorlay, then do his worst.

  Wilhelm shook himself and focused on her eyes. Pain. Anger. Exhaustion, fear, desolation. Her tears welled as she warred with the urge to break down, a reaction to the trauma now that she confronted it with him. He knew the process, but feared she would sink into despair and not come out.

  Strength, he urged her silently, stroking down her temple. Hold fast a little longer. She seemed to understand, blinking back the tears and holding her chin higher.

  He nodded his intention as he pushed the straps of her shift aside and examined the bruises pooling in black and maroon under her delicate skin. Fists, like the marks on her jaw and cheek. Even worse, the shallow cuts on the edges of her cheekbones, jaw, and collar — her flesh split from being smashed with the points of large knuckles. Thick swollen welts spaced evenly from her collar down onto the slopes of her breasts. Claw marks. Her clothes had been ripped off.

  Breathing in jagged gusts, he gently fingered her ribs over the fabric of her shift. She whimpered as he probed the right side but reacted with a sharp sob as he found where her ribs were cracked on the left side. He found he simply couldn’t venture any lower even though he was burning to know.

  He couldn’t bear it. Wilhelm stepped back, shaking from the inside out. He could see what had happened to her, every excruciating detail. How had this happened on his watch? Wilhelm dropped to his knees and buried his face in her lap, clutching the folds of her shift. He moaned her name, he might have muttered something he would regret, but she didn’t react. He drew on her calm presence to ground himself, but his blood hammered a war cry. He wanted Vorlay’s head.

  “Sophia, I am going to kill him.”

  “No, Wilhelm, you are not.” Her body shuddered, but her voice came even and sure. He was compelled to listen through the fury pounding in his brain. Hearing his name on her lips was the fresh breeze of reason. He would do anything to hear it again. “This is not your fault.”

  A growl roiled in his throat, but she silenced him with her fingers in his hair, raking gently along his scalp and teasing the nerves in his head. He was damned lucky he was already on his knees; her simple show of affection moved the earth under him.

  “There will not be any trouble, my lord. I promise. I will go away quietly, no one ever need know — ”

  That jolted him into action. “What? Oh no. You are coming with me, right away.”

  He whisked her robe from the floor and carefully arranged it over her shoulders. Sophia resisted his attempt to lead her by the arm. He heard a low snarl building and noticed the fourth dog, hackles raised, blocking the door.

  “Hör auf,” Desist, Wilhelm growled back. The dog danced on its paws, whining in protest. Damned thing was more loyal to Sophia than its master. Then where had it been last night?

  “He saved me.” Her voice sounded scratchy. “I called the pack. They dashed through the window and attacked Sir Vorlay. Those German commands — they work.” She tried to smile but winced as it pulled on her split lip.

  “Good to know.” So the sodding dog acted as her hero, while he had been floating his eyeballs in cognac. I will go hang myself now.

  “It could have been so much worse, Wilhelm.” She finally looked him in the eye — one swollen half shut, but still he saw her earnestness.

  Could have been worse, meaning she had been spared rape, or she merely felt relieved to survive with her life? Until she offered the tale, he would never ask. Wilhelm closed his eyes, metered his breath and waited for relief to cool his bloodlust. None came.

  “My father sent him.”

  “What?”

  “Vorlay knew my name, and said my father sent him to deliver a message.”

  Months of work — espionage, baiting, posturing, undone in an instant by a betrayal he had not seen coming. He would deal with that later, he reminded himself, forcing his calm façade in place. “And the message?”

  “This is the message.” She gestured vaguely, sweeping down her body to indicate the gruesome beating she had taken from Vorlay and winced again, probably having aggravated her poor cracked ribs. “Last time — the attack at home before I ran away, my father told Lowdry if he could get a brat on me, he could have me. I imagine he told Vorlay the same. If I fail to produce an heir for Eastleigh … .” she trailed, grimacing.

  Wilhelm already knew Chauncey had gambled away money tied up in the estate. A son by Sophia would break the entailment, giving Chauncey legal authority to liquidate the assets. Apparently Chauncey wanted an heir — and thereby the money — at all costs. What kind of a man did this, farmed out his daughter for breeding like a common mare? Plotted to steal the inheritance from his own grandson?

  “I will handle your father later.” Temper heating, Wilhelm’s mouth went bitter with disgust. Patience. “Vorlay’s crime against you is unforgivable. He must be dealt with.”

  She frantically shook her head. “No! Oh Wilhelm, please, that is not — ”

  “All right. For you, I promise to have mercy on the bastard.” He folded her in his arms, pressing her gently against his chest, mindful of her injured side. She didn’t seem to notice his omission of not defining mercy. He cradled her head in one hand and brushed down her back with the other. She fell to pieces, sobbing with a sound like heartbreak.

  Wilhelm carried her to the rumpled bed and sat with her in his lap. Long minutes while she wept and he did his best to comfort her.

  “Just let me go.”

  “Never.”

  “I want it to all go away.” She muttered Never again, over and over, then clutched his shirt in tight fists and struck her forehead against his chest, angry now.

  It spiked his own anger. He had justice to serve. He reached to pull the cord and summoned Martin to fetch Philip. Sophia should not be left alone.

  Philip strode through the doorway, took one look at Sophia and cursed, “Bloody hell.”

  Wilhelm caught his eye and warned him to silence, gesturing for Philip to take his place. Sophia was in a fragile state.

  On impulse he went back to kiss her forehead, praying the Sophia made of fire and steel, the woman he had come to adore, was not lost to him. No inferno in hell would burn hot enough for both Vorlay and Chauncey if Sophia had been broken. He could not bear it.

  He gave Philip a curt nod and Philip nodded back, communicating he understood Wilhelm’s intentions. The dog whimpered again, anxious. “Folge,” Follow, Wilhelm ordered, deciding the guard dog could have its turn with Vorlay. It had earned the right. The dog, as well as Philip, accepted what Sophia was either too frightened or too charitable to comprehend: an enemy so evil, once thwarted, would never rest until he exacted revenge. Wilhelm had to act first. It was the only way she would ever be safe from harm.

  The long walk to Vorlay’s quarters allowed time for his cold assassin’s mien to engulf him completely. His vision saw only black and white, necessity and truth. He would try his utmost to take no satisfaction in this, but what was one more ghost among the crowd?

  Wilhelm found the door and threw it open, striding in heavy steps with the dog flanking him in an attack stance. Vorlay had experienced Philip’s nautical handiwork with rope, bound immobile to a chair. A spindly old man, presumably Vorlay’s valet, frantically worked at the knots with a penknife, unaware of the company.

  Vorlay swatted the man aside. “Devon! What a relief. You would not believe what I have been through. That Cavendish nephew of yours — ”

  Wilhelm interrupted, pointing to the valet, “You, man. Your name.”

  Vorlay seemed puzzled by the cold, flat tone of Wilhelm’s voice.

  The valet wrung his hands. “H-Hanson, my lord.”

  “Hanso
n. You will now depart in Vorlay’s carriage and deliver a message to Chauncey.”

  Both men startled at the mention of Sophia’s father.

  Wilhelm paced casually around the chair, palming a blade against his thigh. In a move so swift the others flinched, he sliced off Vorlay’s index finger, signet ring and all. Vorlay screamed like a woman, rolling his eyes as though he might pass out.

  Placing the stump in the valet’s vest pocket, Wilhelm added blandly, “Inform Chauncey the rest of Vorlay will arrive shortly.”

  The man blinked and stuttered, and Wilhelm barked “Go!”

  Hanson abandoned Vorlay, who writhed in horror, gaping at his bloody hand. Wilhelm nudged the door shut with his foot. He allowed a full minute of silence for Vorlay to contemplate his end. No need for theatrics — Vorlay knew what Wilhelm was capable of. The dog growled, riled and eager by the scent of Vorlay’s blood, at his obvious show of fear.

  “You are stark raving mad, Devon!” He jerked against the ropes. “Let me out, and I shall forgive the matter of — ”

  “Did I ever tell you how the Russians carry out an execution? Forcing liquid metal down the throat is my personal favorite, but I remember you once told me you deal in quid pro quo. You deserve no less.” Wilhelm twirled the knife in his fingers as he spoke, spattering Vorlay’s face with his own blood.

  Vorlay seemed to swallow his tongue before blurting, “This is preposterous! I am a baronet and an officer! You have no right.”

  Wilhelm laughed in low, emotionless chuckles. He used the same knife to cut through the ropes one by one until Vorlay shook off the coils and clambered out of the chair. Wilhelm tossed him a loaded pistol and stepped back ten paces, leaving Vorlay puzzled and bleeding all over the gun. The fool didn’t see a duel coming when it hit him over the head.

  “You know I am above the law, Vorlay, and I can make you disappear.”

  Vorlay wet his lips and begged, “Old friend, brother — ”

  “I might have forgiven your betrayal to Chauncey, but the moment you laid a hand on my woman, you signed your own death warrant.”

  “But he said — ”

  “For her sake it will be swift. Contemplate that as you burn in hell.” Wilhelm looked down at Vorlay, studying the man’s eyes, but Vorlay could not stand to hold his gaze. Guilt, but no remorse. Fear. Contempt. He would try to shoot any moment now. “Your move, Vorlay. Strike first. I gave you the only pistol.”

  “You have no idea what you are trifling with, Devon. He will have your head. Then the bitch will wish she had me, after what he has in store. Chauncey is — ”

  Vorlay raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger in a poor attempt at a surprise attack. Wilhelm threw the knife with a small flick of his wrist, lodging it in Vorlay’s throat before he pulled the trigger back. He sank to his knees, eyes wide with shock.

  “A dead man,” Wilhelm finished.

  He left the blade where it lodged and muttered a command to the dog, allowing it to finish the task. Fritz dove for Vorlay’s neck in a torrent of growls, ripping and yanking as he had been trained to do with an enemy. Once Vorlay’s foot quit twitching, Wilhelm called off the dog, wiped his hands on Vorlay’s coat, and left the room. Martin would handle the rest, another old brother-at-arms and one of the few souls who knew all about Wilhelm’s sordid government activities. Martin would not be pleased, however, with the blood pooled on the carpet and spattered on the walls.

  Wilhelm retreated to his office, threw open the window, and vomited. Justice may prevail, but it always took its toll. This time it was worse, because it was personal. He couldn’t seem to cloak his mind in oblivion. When had the ice in his veins melted? And while he could find no satisfaction in the deed, neither could he feel regret. Only the familiar taint of bloodshed. He looked at his hands clutching the window sill, disgusted with the smeared blood.

  How could he ever touch her again?

  A travesty, since his next task was to go upstairs and convince Sophia she had to marry him, today. If he were a man to fear God, he might beg forgiveness. Alas his penance would be to pass every day atoning for it.

  If he made Sophia happy in some way, it would be enough.

  • • •

  She had long envied the Cavendish girls their elder brother, and now that she had a taste of male protection without the strain of erotic undercurrents, she wished he were her brother too. Philip made her feel at peace despite every reason to the contrary — the pain in her ribs, the urgency to leave Rougemont, the thought of life without Wilhelm … . She had nearly dozed off, until a nightmarish scream sounded from downstairs.

  When she asked, Philip assured her Wilhelm would give over custody of Sir Vorlay to the constable, acting as magistrate. Even through his soothing tone, she knew Philip lied. Almost convincing, but Sophia knew more about deception than the average damsel. More telling had been the cool detachment in Wilhelm’s expression as he left the room. He killed Vorlay. And her father would know. What had she brought down upon Rougemont? On Wilhelm?

  He made no sound, but Sophia sensed his presence when Wilhelm returned. Awareness vibrated on the back of her neck and stroked down her spine. If she had not become accustomed to the magnetic attraction between them after all these months, she probably never would. Philip deferred to Lord Devon and left the room.

  Wilhelm sat next to her on the window seat then turned sideways, propping his back against the pane. He raised his knees and patted his collar, prompting her to rest against his chest. She obeyed, struck with the comparison of Philip’s pleasant company and the complicated effect Wilhelm’s touch had on her.

  Both handsome, desirable men, but Sophia had not been tempted to turn her face into Philip’s neck and nibble on his ear. Her lips had not prickled with the hope of a kiss, and when Philip looked down at her in that masculine way a man lowers his eyes at a woman, her stomach didn’t drop. She hadn’t once thought of Philip’s lap, whereas now she was all too aware of how her waist curved over Wilhelm’s groin. If she didn’t feel as though she had been wrangled by an angry sow, she might make something of this rather delectable position.

  Wilhelm rubbed his hand over the side of her thigh, one of the few spots that didn’t ache. His voice came as a lazy rumble, “Events have been set in motion which cannot be undone.”

  “That is a poetic way of confessing you killed one man and picked a fight with another.” He made a humorless chuckle which served as acknowledgment. She was entirely muddled and had no idea if she should be mortified, relieved, or what else.

  “Did you honestly think we could have prevailed in a court of law, Sophia?”

  We? No, it would have been just she, by herself. Sophia would never let Wilhelm drag his name through the mud beside hers. And it would have been an international scandal. By the time the judge called them to trial, she would look healed and well, and the word of one ruined woman against an officer and gentleman? Not to mention her father would likely find a way to bribe Vorlay out of jail before then. “No. I suppose not.”

  “And do you think Vorlay would have accepted his defeat? Left you alone?”

  No, he would be livid and vengeful, a man like her father. She would have felt the wrath of both Vorlay and Lord Chauncey if they caught her. “No, Wilhelm, you are right. But this is bad business all around.”

  “For your part, I must ask you to trust me, Sophia.”

  “I do trust you, Wilhelm.”

  “Enough to marry me?”

  Sophia scoffed, “I can’t marry you simply because I trust you. Frankly I am surprised to hear you ask again. I made myself quite clear — I am not eligible, for both my sake as well as yours.”

  “But you didn’t explain. And then you ran away.”

  “You require an heir.”

  “Forget that. Explain your objections already.” He sounded almost sleepy despite the edge of derision in his voice.

  Sophia caught herself scraping her nails up and down his neck, lightly tugging on the hair behind hi
s ear. “First tell me why you offer marriage.”

  He made a sound halfway between a hum and a purr. “Because I want to bed you.”

  “Then do it. I am no lady, so you cannot ruin me.”

  “You called my bluff. Marry me, so I will always have a duet partner.”

  “Wilhelm, please be serious.”

  “I thought the first reason was good enough. But perhaps I want you to throw out my cognac and pinch me under the dinner table. Unfasten my buttons, call me scandalous pet names … .”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “If not for rank or wealth, people marry for love. Seeing none of those apply, I am at a loss. You don’t love me, Wilhelm, and I do not love you. Not the way you deserve. A few months of bed sport hardly justifies the disappointment that follows. I could not stand for you to loathe me, Wil. You understand, don’t you?”

  He cursed “Damn all,” then fell silent.

  Why would he not discuss this plainly? There had to be a reason, and she wanted to hear it. What did he have to gain by an alliance with her, after she had been plain about her indiscretions, her shameful family, as well as her inability to bear children? And he knew she had been sullied not once, but twice by attackers bent on rape.

  “I could never thank you enough for your kindness, but I really am leaving, should have gone last night. I have a place at St. Angelo’s. I am late, but I am sure the offer still stands.”

  She felt his heart beating under her cheek and counted a dozen pulses before he asked warily, “St. Angelo’s? What is that?”

  “A convent. In Spain. The mother superior accepted me as a novice … last winter. I should never have come here.”

  His hand stilled, fingers spread over her flank, but he seemed mindless of the impropriety. The silence felt neither like one of his trances nor the comfortable time he typically spent thinking over a matter. She sensed his unease in his tensed muscles, heard it in his heavy breath.

  “I am truly sorry, Wilhelm.” She reached to hold his hand, but he clamped her fingers down. Dynasties rose and fell while she waited for him to speak — something, anything.