“Ah, I see the idea intrigues you.” He slowed as the music’s ritardando signaled the crescendo of the finale. “I know a restful place. I’ll take you there.”
Sophia scanned the ballroom for someone familiar. She did not know her next dance partner—the son of a friend of her father’s—and Henny, Arthur and Mama were nowhere to be seen. Joseph neither, although even if she did spy him in the bustling crowd, she hardly knew how she could convince the duke to take her to him. Royston pulled her toward the French doors leading onto the terrace, conducting her rather emphatically through them and out into the frigid night air.
Instantly she chilled and not from the change in temperature. She tried to focus on how one might extricate oneself from such a situation. A need for a wrap? He would simply give her his jacket. A call of nature? He would wait nearby. She had no time to think of any other ruse, for he was being very insistent, guiding her forcefully, down the stone stairs, over the lawn, into the depths of the dark amongst the trees and arbors and gazebos that created shadows and enclosed spaces.
He had stopped chatting with her, instead was determined, adamant about getting somewhere in particular, gripping her arm tightly, unconcerned if she was scratched by a rosebush or tripped on a rut or snagged her voluminous skirt on a hedge. The light from lamps soon disappeared and party guests along with the lamps. They were utterly, completely alone in the moonless night.
And the duke was not in a good mood.
Soon they were at the back of the garden, a stone wall looming before them. Royston muttered an oath then yanked her to the right. He dragged her through a side door, cursing once again at the clank of the iron latch, and into the neighboring garden where a stand of trees, gnarled and ominous, clustered at the back. He pulled her inside amongst the twisted branches and slammed her up against a thick trunk and stripped off his gloves.
He held her against the coarse bark as he pressed his lips against hers, cold and clammy, his passion borne from anger. She struggled against him but he held her down firmly, resolutely, pulling her hands up over her head.
“You will learn that a fine lady does not keep company with such dogs. Once you are mine I will make sure of it.” His hand tightened cruelly around her wrists.
“Please, Your Grace, you are hurting me,” she said purposefully loudly.
He released her and slapped her face with such strength she doubled over. She cupped her stinging cheek, unsure if the wetness was blood or tears.
“I see you did not inherit your mother’s fondness for pain. That is regrettable.” He grabbed her by the hair, pulling back, forcing her to look at him. “You will keep your mouth shut while your better teaches you a lesson.” He hauled her by the hair under a low branch, knocking her head against it as he yanked her to standing.
He placed his hands on the neckline of her dress and pulled outward, tearing the bodice in half. Sophia gasped a cry, clutching the ruined fabric to her bosom, her thumb reflexively reaching for her locket, finding nothing. Gone. Henny’s precious gift was gone. She whimpered.
He slapped her hard across her face, his signet ring striking her cheekbone. “I told you to be silent.”
He rent her dress viciously, shredding the skirt down the middle, grabbed her right hand and tore off her glove then crushed her forearm against the branch. He wrapped the length of fine kidskin around her wrist tightly, binding her to the tree.
Tears cascaded down her neck to her chest as he cruelly squeezed a breast, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth. He untied the tapes of her cage crinoline and petticoats then stomped them flat on the ground.
“No man will want damaged goods.”
Sophia froze.
He tore open her drawers.
Her head spun, her stomach churned. Did she forget to breathe? Did she forget how to breathe? Her free hand lifted to touch her temple…
His fingers tightened on her wrist as he hastily unbuttoned his trousers and drawers. He kicked her legs apart.
She teetered and fell back against the trunk, her brain in a fog, not certain if what she was seeing in the dark was really happening…
* * * * *
Joseph berated himself for upsetting the duke just before the man partnered with Sophia. She had looked pained as Royston inelegantly moved her across the floor, dodging rather than floating among the other twirling bodies, their arbitrary path making it difficult to track them. Joseph had stepped forward to get a better view and practically crashed into a giggling, spinning couple, losing sight of Sophia for only a second. The music ended and he searched for her in the crowd.
Alarm stabbed up his spine. She was not there.
He searched the ballroom frantically, trying hard not to draw attention to himself. In the corner of his eye he saw a young man approach Henny and Arthur, showing them his dance card, questioning them, the pair shaking their heads and looking around as well, the young man shrugging and moving along.
Shit. Sophia had missed the next dance.
He espied the French doors leading out onto the terrace—the easiest way out of the ballroom—and moved as quickly as he could, still searching, glancing at every couple, noting sizes and shapes, the dresses of the women as he wound his way outside down the steps to the lawn spilling out into the garden. Couples milled about, most remaining close to the house, a few venturing off along lamp-lit paths to flirt and fondle in a romantic gazebo or arbor.
But if a man’s motive was not romance, such a man would take his prey to the darkest corner of the garden.
Joseph drew in a breath and dived into the dark, allowing his eyes to adjust to the moonless night. He moved as swiftly and silently as possible, his senses on high alert, his ears competing with the worry and reprobation screaming in his head.
The screech of metal on metal and a throaty snarl stopped him cold.
He turned and sped toward the sounds, pushing through a side door in the garden wall, his way barely lit by the dim light glowing from the Wrexham’s upper floors, his ears pounding at the sound of fabric tearing.
His eyes focused on the scene of his worst fear realized. Sophia captive and half-dressed, crying and exposed, sagging against a tree.
And the Duke of Royston with his prick in his hand.
He inhaled deeply to contain the fury balling within. He would not save Sophia by murdering the man, even though that was precisely what he wanted to do.
“Step away from Lady Sophia, Royston. If you know what’s good for you.”
The duke spun around, tucking and buttoning frenziedly. “This is not your concern, Phillips.”
“The safety of Lord Petersham’s sister is every bit my concern. Leave. Now.”
Royston looked as if he were about to respond, thought better of it and ran off, away from the ball and the crowds.
Joseph flew to Sophia, gathering her in his arms, untying her wrist. She slumped down into a mass of undergarments and torn silk, her chemise wet with blood and tears.
She said nothing in her dazed state as he put her clothes back together as best he could, wrapping his jacket around her to hide her disarray. He carried her through the garden gate to the edge of the lawn then held her up as they walked along a narrow gardener’s path to the front of the house.
He waved for a footman, who came instantly.
He gave the man a sovereign and his coat-room ticket. “The lady fell and injured herself. I need you to retrieve the Earl of Petersham and our hats.”
Joseph held on to Sophia with all his might as they waited tucked behind a marble column, containing the anger, frustration and regret shaking him to his core.
If only he had not let her out of his sight.
* * * * *
Suspicion spiked through Arthur when a footman informed him he was required outside and requested he get his hat, his voice polite yet urgent. Suspicion turned to distress when he saw the footman retrieve Joseph’s hat.
He grabbed the servant’s arm “Where is this man?” He indicated the
hat.
“He’s out front with a woman, my lord. She has been injured.”
Sophia. Something’s happened to Sophia. She hadn’t shown up for her dance with Viscount Welney.
“Get my carriage,” he said to the footman. “The wrap of Lady Sophia Harwell,” he called to the coat-room clerk. He jotted a note to Henny on the back of his ticket. “And please make sure the Lady Henrietta Langley gets this message.”
Then he was out on the gravel.
Sophia looked barely alive.
“My God, what happened?” He held on to her as Joseph settled his hat on his head.
“Not here, my lord,” Joseph said as the carriage pulled up.
The two men helped Sophia inside.
“Richmond residence,” Joseph directed quietly to the coachman.
Arthur caught Joseph’s eye as he took his seat opposite but his friend only shook his head. Joseph drew Sophia to him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Sophia roused then suddenly grabbed Joseph’s arm. He whispered to her in soothing tones and she clung more desperately, crying softly all the way home.
Once parked in front of the house, Joseph lifted a crumpled Sophia into his arms and carried her inside.
“Get Anna,” he said to the footman.
He motioned with his head to the staircase. “Which way to Sophia’s room?”
“Follow me.” Arthur led the way then opened the bedroom door and lit the bedside lamp.
Anna appeared directly. All color drained from her face the moment she saw her mistress.
Arthur chilled at the horror revealed in the glow of the light. Sophia’s lip was swollen and cut, blood streaked down her chin and neck. Her left cheek was red, the eye above swollen. She hadn’t met with an accident, someone had done this to her.
“Anna,” Joseph said, distracting the maid from her astonishment, “I need you to get a sedative. Do you have such a thing in the house?”
Anna glanced at Arthur.
“Do what he says, Anna. Ask Cawston. He should have some laudanum in the butler’s pantry. If not, bring brandy. Quickly.”
Joseph removed the jacket covering Sophia. Arthur swallowed his shock at what was revealed underneath. His sister had been savagely attacked.
She livened, clutched at Joseph, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Shh, shh, darling, I’m here.” He enveloped her shaking form in his arms and kissed her hair. “I’m here. You’re safe now.”
Darling?
“Arthur, help me.” Joseph began removing the tattered dress from Sophia’s body carefully, gently, coaxing her with soothing words.
Arthur held on to his sister as she followed Joseph’s instructions to step out of her torn crinoline. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she grabbed her neck.
“My locket,” she whispered.
Henny’s gift. Arthur eased Sophia’s hand down to her side. “I’ll ask Lady Wrexham to report if it is found,” he said calmly. The sight of her face twisted in too many emotions wrenched his gut.
Joseph moved away to place the rent garments on a chair. Sophia lurched and ran to him.
“Don’t leave me!” she shrieked.
“No no, darling. I’m not leaving.” Joseph stroked her sagging, disheveled hair. He looked at Arthur. “Get a damp towel for the blood.”
He wet a towel from the basin, returning to find Joseph removing Sophia’s undergarments as if he had done such a thing before.
Joseph ignored his questioning look as he took the towel and proceeded to wipe the blood from Sophia’s face, down her neck to her bosom, all the while cooing consolations.
Anna knocked then entered, registering brief surprise at the sight of Joseph and her mistress.
“Laudanum, Mr. Phillips.” She held out a glass.
“Good. Thank you, Anna.” Joseph took the glass. “Sophia, you need to drink this, love. It will help you forget.”
He helped her with the glass as she drank the mixture. When she finished he held the glass out for Anna to take, separating his body from Sophia’s ever so slightly.
“Joseph! No!” She grabbed at his waistcoat.
He wrapped his arms around her, patting her head against his chest. “I’ll be here with you all night, darling.” He glanced at Anna. “Make sure no one tells the Richmonds anything. Request silence from the staff who witnessed this tonight.”
“Yes, sir.” Anna curtsied and left.
“Lock the door,” Joseph instructed Arthur. “You’re staying the night in this room.”
Joseph carried a weakened Sophia to the bed and tucked her in. Then he slipped off his shoes and climbed into bed alongside her, pulling her to him under the covers, kissing her hair, murmuring softly.
Arthur stared dumbfounded at the scene as he turned off the lamp. He grabbed Joseph’s jacket and made himself comfortable on the day bed.
Chapter Twelve
An incredible urge to piss woke Joseph. For a moment he forgot where he was until memories from the night before flooded his brain. He glanced at Sophia, safe in bed beside him, sound asleep.
As was Arthur, sprawled out on a day bed near the cheval glass.
He could relieve himself behind the dressing screen. He grabbed the pot from under the bed and was quick about it.
The room was cold and dark, the fire unlit, the curtains closed. The housemaid had not come in, under Anna’s instruction he presumed. He lit the fire and went to the window, pulling aside the drapes just enough to see the cruel world waking up below.
Arthur sidled up next to him. “Tell me what happened,” he said with quiet urgency.
“Royston had his trousers unbuttoned, his prick in his hand and was about to violate your sister before I intervened.”
“Oh God,” Arthur muttered.
“From the look of it he beat her up as well.”
“Jesus. I have to tell my father. He needs to know about this insult.”
“He’ll probably want to question her. She’s in shock, Arthur. Be gentle with her.”
“Yes, of course.” Arthur shook his head. “How on earth could this have happened? There must have been hundreds of people there last night.”
“Royston’s no fool. He took her to the neighbor’s garden. There’s an adjoining gate.”
“How is it were you there?” Arthur’s voice was laced with incredulity.
“I followed them. I cannot abide that man and I cannot abide seeing Sophie with him.”
Arthur remained silent for a moment. “Tell me about you and my sister.”
Emotion welled in Joseph’s chest. He knew the truth even though he swore it would not happen. “I’m in love with her,” he said, staring blankly at the rug. “I didn’t know until recently how deeply, how desperately in love with her I am.”
Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder. “She seems to feel something very strongly for you as well.”
“Arthur,” he murmured gravely, “I of all men know this cannot, this must not be.”
“How far has it gone?” he asked delicately. “Have you been intimate?”
Joseph met his gaze. “She’s still a virgin, if that’s what you mean. I would never—”
“I know you would not. You’re the most honorable man I know.”
“But, Arthur, listen, had I arrived a minute later last night, she would not still be. Royston will stop at nothing to make her his.”
“Including violence, it seems.” Arthur stared at his sister, tears misting his eyes. “They can’t let him have her. They can’t. Not after this.”
“You must protect her. We must protect her. I would do anything to protect her from that man.”
“As would I.”
A tentative knock sounded at the door. Both men looked at each other in panic.
“It’s probably just Anna.” Arthur went to the door. “Yes?”
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” said Anna meekly. “I brought a little breakfast and came to light the fire.”
Arthur unlocked the door and quickly
ushered the maid inside. Anna set down the tray then glanced over at Sophia.
“If I may, my lord, how is she?”
“Lady Sophia is sleeping,” said Joseph. “She fell asleep soon after you brought the medicine last night. I think she will stay abed for most of the day.”
“Thank you, sir.” She glanced at the hearth. “Did Fanny light the fire?” she asked in surprise.
“No, I did.” Joseph smiled at her.
“Thank you, sir.” She curtsied with a blush. She turned to Arthur. “If I may, my lord, will my mistress need a doctor?”
Arthur puffed an exhale and scratched his head. “It’s a rather delicate situation. I don’t want to involve any of the family doctors just yet. But thank you, Anna, for thinking of that. We’ll let you know.”
She curtsied but hesitated.
“Is there anything else?” Arthur seemed a tad agitated.
She started to speak then stopped and cast her gaze to the carpet. She glanced at Joseph who smiled encouragingly.
“I know it is not my business, my lord, but was the Duke of Royston involved in the incident with my mistress?”
Arthur paled. “You are correct, Anna, it is not your business.”
Joseph held up his hand. Something about her statement intrigued him. “Why would you ask such a question?”
“Because the duke insulted me one night during his last visit at Harwell Hall.”
“Good God,” muttered Arthur.
“Can you be sure it was Royston?”
Anna’s eyes widened in shock.
“I mean no insult, Anna,” Joseph said. “But a serious accusation will need evidence.”
“Yes, sir.” She drew in a breath. “He took me to his room. He threatened me. I know his voice.” She wiped away a tear. “There was light from a lamp. I saw him clearly, sir.”
Joseph wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her to a chair by the fire. The man was an absolute animal to have attacked such a sweet, gentle girl.
Arthur held out his handkerchief.
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