“No.” He looked surprised. “I wish you to be nothing less than you are.”
If he had swept in demanding her return, she would have known how to fight him. This manifestation of Randolph, however, was a squirming snake she could not grasp. Her perception was near legendary, but she could not accurately read Randolph in any manifestation. The loss of her most vital skill left her cold. Which, in turn, made her more susceptible to the power radiating from his body.
“More lies.” She swallowed. “You are a deceiver. A sheep-clad wolf.” With wolf-hungry eyes.
“Ah, sweetness. You abandoned me. You put yourself in danger. You jeopardized my mission. And yet, I almost understand.”
She narrowed her eyes and damned him through her gaze. Damned him for successfully using soft words as tenderizing weapons.
“If I had told you,” he continued, “that I worked in your father’s organization, would you have welcomed me to your soiree? Would you have invited me into your study and into your arms?”
She blinked, and then took a step back—away from the temptation of his warmth. “Of course not. And I would not have married you. I cannot live in the same corruption, lies, and blood as Baneham did.”
He frowned. “Do you give your father any credit for the good he did?”
A blow too low. “Do not ever speak to me about the earl.”
“I do not presume to know your father as you do, but again and again you have insinuated I share Baneham’s limitations. I am not Baneham. I have been called stubborn, daring, and determined, I have never been called ruthless.”
“You share Baneham’s arrogance.”
“I do not rage as he raged.”
Blood crept up her neck and flushed her cheeks. “You kicked the poker.”
“So you would not maim me.” His voice rose with exasperation. “What would you have me do, Sophia?”
“Let me go.” Lonely darkness followed her words, leaving her stomach hollow.
“Let you go, so Kasai’s men can come for you?”
She ignored the specter of her present danger. “Kasai will not find me.”
“You are my wife. It is my office to protect you.”
“I am not your wife.” She pressed her palms against her eyes, pushing back against the pain. “I mean—I am your wife, but I do not wish to be.” Shame, anger, and fear danced a mad reel within her mind. “Leave me, Randolph. Just leave me. Sue me for Criminal Conversation. Request a Parliamentary divorce. I do not care, do you understand?”
“Do you find me heinous enough,” his voice had become strangely detached, “that you would blacken both our names just to be rid of me?”
She dropped her palms. “I told you Baneham was murdered. You told me some things were better left unquestioned. You asked me to reveal what I know and relinquish to you anything he may have left behind. Why else would you do so, unless you had a hand in his death? Unless you were charged to make certain his secrets died with him.”
“So,” he sighed, “you do think me a killer.”
“The man who wielded the knife in Baneham’s back must have come from within his circle.”
“Is that what you believe?” he asked, gaze speculative and intent.
“Baneham should have listened to his own rules. Trust no one,” she repeated rule thirteen, “least of all a friend.”
“Sophia,”—he reached out and cupped her face with a gentleness at odds with the urgency in his tone—“you may be right, but look me in the eye and tell me you believe I had a hand in Baneham’s death. Look me in the eye and tell me I mean you harm.”
She could do neither. “I do not know what to believe.”
“I have never killed for personal gain and I have never betrayed a friend. Baneham was a friend. You are a friend.”
His words and their meaning settled slowly into her mind. A friend. He had come to think of her as a friend. Somehow, friend was more disconcerting than husband or lover.
Mind-numbing questions nagged her conscience. She had already come to the conclusion he did not mean her harm—not intentionally. But, could she believe he, too, was struggling to transcend the sticky mess Baneham had left behind?
“I do not think I would survive,” she altered her earlier words, “a return to Baneham’s world of corruption, lies, and blood.”
“I wish I could give you a choice,” he said. “Kasai wants you. Do you have any idea of what his emissaries will do if they get to you?”
Again, Randolph had done a subtle pivot. The brutal reality of Kasai, she realized, could not be separated from the course of their marriage—not yet.
When she spoke, she spoke with a softer tone. “I am safe, as you can see.”
“Because,” he replied, “you are unharmed does not mean you are safe and it certainly does not mean you are protected.”
“I am,” she said, “as far from where anyone would look for me as I could be—although your presence compromises my hiding.”
“You prefer Quakers and lunatics to me?”
She looked out over the pasture. “I will not again live a lie—and lies carve out the very heart of every spy’s life. I can promise you I will not be reckless, however. I have no wish to die by Kasai’s agent’s hands.”
He frowned. “Do you think Kasai’s men are here to kill you?”
“Kill me, yes. Just as they killed Baneham.”
“Then why would you think I also wished to kill…” his voice faded. “You thought I was working for Kasai.”
She bit her lip. “I was scared.”
He cocked his head. “When I said you have something of Baneham’s Kasai wants, I was not only referring to clues Baneham may have left behind, I was referring to your fortune”
“My fortune?” she echoed.
“Kasai does not want to kill you. He seeks to force you into marriage. He wants Baneham’s fortune.”
…
Earl Baneham’s Rules for Winning
“No matter what your true motive, suggest to others the best.”
Sophia’s color drained, a mirror of the sinking sensation in Randolph’s stomach when she revealed she thought him capable of taking orders from Kasai.
He hadn’t time to complain of offense. The truth had taken the wind from her lungs.
Though pale, she did not shirk. Her courage filled him with a surge of something very close to affection. The desire to protect her made his arms ache—and, he had to admit, his desire had nothing to do with his long-ago promise to Baneham.
But he could not protect her while she remained elusive. Rulers need the acquiescence of the conquered—something Baneham had never thought to include in his rules.
He frowned.
While Baneham’s rules had been effective in Randolph’s line of work, ruler, conquered, and enemy were not words belonging next to wife.
He had acted the worst sort of cad—a bully. She was a bundle of nerves, anger, and distrust. Knots woven so tight, he had almost no hope of reaching her core.
“I thought,” he said, “you understood Kasai’s ambition. Baneham had been adamant that you, your fortune, and England were a part of Kasai’s ultimate plan, though I did not believe him at first.” Not until he had rescued Helena and she had confirmed Kasai’s aspirations.
She placed her hand over her stomach. “Kasai wants to marry me…” He watched the implications tumble through her mind, each one clear upon her features. “But now, because of you, he cannot.”
“Not without killing me first.” He had married her for his own purposes, but by marrying her, he had placed his own life between Kasai and his aim.
She balled her hands into fists and placed them on either side of her head. “You have stolen what he set out to take.”
“I have, to my risk, put myself between you.”
She looked away—down past the rise toward the horizon.
When clear she would not speak, he continued, “I want you safe with me, but I have told Elizabeth I would not force y
ou to leave. I will keep my word.”
Oh, he wanted to break his word. He wanted to capture her in his arms, fit them both onto his saddle and urge Charlemagne toward home. But this was a war, not a battle. He could not win by gaining the advantage in the first skirmish.
Damnation.
Was he absolutely incapable of dealing with his wife without thinking in military terms? All he knew was she must be firmly ensconced at his side while this game of cat and mouse played to its final conclusion. But seduction had not worked. Reason had not worked. What more did he have?
His gaze traveled over her face, her clothes. Who would have imagined Lady Scandal had been dressing in coarse wool and spending her days working harder than a servant?
She was proud, as she should be, of her choice for a hiding place. He thought of the silk night rail in his bag. The Sophia he knew would not truly wish to remain indefinitely in a place like this.
…Not if given a viable alternative.
His idea could rebound, and he would be worse after than he was now. But Sophia was worth a gamble.
“I intend to honor my promise to Elizabeth. You may stay here.”
Her eyes widened. “Pardon?”
“You ran from me, sweetness.”
“I ran after I was deceived,” she said. “I believed you capable of any deception. You could have been working for Kasai. You could have been the man who killed my father.”
Believed. Past. Not believe. Current. He still had a chance. Please do not question this ruse.
He placed his hands behind his back and aimed for a very innocent, yet grave, expression. “Naturally, I was concerned. I am much relieved, now I see you are safe.” He furrowed his brow as if he were formulating a plan instead of inventing a desperate pretense. “I would insist on a guard, of course. A better one than I placed outside the dowager’s.”
She blinked. “You are planning to leave?”
“Clearly, you wish to be left.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And if I decide to become a Quaker?”
He laughed out loud. “You, who purred at the thought of fine silk?”
She flashed a furious scowl. “You make me sound frivolous.”
“Sauce for the duck is not sauce for the gander?” He squinted, trying to recall… “‘Just a rake’ you called me. Nothing more than a libertine controlled by his appetites.”
“I never intended to insult you.”
“No. You intended to use me as you pleased.”
She swallowed. “I have been disabused of that notion.”
“Have you?” He fixed his gaze on her hunted-fox eyes, acutely conscious they had lost their former sparkle, their former mischief. “The Sophia I know would not give up with such ease.”
He closed the distance between them. Again, he cupped her face. He savored the feel of her tiny oval jaw in his over-large hands. Her barely there, involuntary pout invited him to dine.
Ah, her taste. Sweet. So sweet.
He had not planned the kiss, but how could he resist a mouth so delicately pink, so tempting, and so terribly close? His lips touched hers, dewy soft and achingly ambrosial.
She was better than strawberries, freshly picked and still warm from the heat of the sun. Her lips moved against his, creamy and fluid. Just before the blood rushed downward, he had the short-lived sense he was complete.
He seized his final thread of fraying strength and broke free from the mysterious force compelling him to keep her close.
“Goodbye, Sophia Jane.”
…
Earl Baneham’s Rules for Winning
“Prepare for the unexpected.”
Sophia remained frozen with shock as her husband broke his affectingly poignant kiss, turned on his heel, and walked away.
She blinked to be certain her eyes had not deceived her—but the reality remained. The utterly infuriating, consummately arrogant, cunningly seductive bastard she had married was going to strand her with the Quaker and her mad eccentrics.
She had never understood why one must prepare for the unexpected until now.
She was whirling—afloat on a churning melee of emotion. Randolph had tempted her with trust. He had taunted her with fear. He had knowingly placed himself in mortal danger when they married.
And now, he was going to leave.
No. No. No. She was going to decide when this ended, not him.
Immediately her cheeks heated. How had he turned this on her? She had had very real concerns which, with one seemingly magnanimous swoop, he had made nothing more than flimsy protestations. But, this was no coquettish game. So much more was at stake.
Her life, for instance. And his.
“Wait!” she commanded.
As he turned, the sun caught the angle of his face, making him look harsher than usual, and more devastating. The emotion rushing through her veins felt suspiciously like relief.
This was a dangerous man. A man not to be trusted. A man who would try and crush every hard-won attribute she possessed.
A man who made her soul come alive like none other.
She assessed him, but to no avail. He was a book in a foreign language with mysterious, dark slashes of script forming words for some but, for her, they remained swirls of incomprehensible artistry.
“You have said,” she asked, “all you mean to say?”
“Did you expect something more?”
She bristled. “Yes.”
“I came to see for myself you are safe. I came to tell you I believe your father was murdered and will do my best to see his killer brought to justice. I came to convince you I mean you no harm.” He looked as if something more was on his lips, then he changed course. “I will send word when it is safe for you to return to London.”
“To London, not to you?” Immediately, she wished her words back.
“You have made your opinion of me clear,” he replied.
Again her cheeks heated. “I was angry.”
“Was?”
She cleared her throat. “Am.”
Randolph slowly nodded. “I am angry, too.”
“Will you seek a divorce?” She waited, heart thumping in her throat’s restricted column.
“We will leave such decisions until after the threat to us both is past.”
“I do not,” Sophia shook her head, “understand you.”
“I know.” His eyes, cold and cryptic, suddenly warmed. “But I am beginning to understand you.”
Beginning. Unfair promise lived within the word. Just as unfair inducement beckoned both times he had used the word understand. Instinct she was afraid to trust pushed her heart back down into her chest and directed its new tempo—a light, quick thrumming calling her to hope.
As if enticed by her heartbeat, Randolph trudged back up the rise. He took her by the hand and drew them both beyond the thicket. His body concealed the afternoon sun. She stood in his shadow.
“You asked me what I wanted of you. But what do you want of me, Randolph?”
“A chance,” he said.
Yes. Please. “The price is high.”
“Is it, sweetness?”
She sorted through the easiest and most obvious responses, searching the deeper abyss.
“Baneham’s corruption was like an ink stain. Living alone in darkness has been better than living day-to-day in the sick world of his mind.”
He wrapped her in his arms and held her cheek against his chest. Through his shirt, his flesh was solid and warm. His breath rocked like a cradle.
“You believe I will drag you back into the muck,” he said.
She lifted her face, looking up into his eyes. “I am scared.”
“I know,” he replied.
He brushed her lips with his, more a suggestion of a kiss than a kiss.
“I have no answer,” he said finally. “Baneham lives in me as much as he lives in you.”
“Therein lies the danger,” she replied.
“A gamble I hope you are willing to take,” he replie
d. “Like your father, I provide services to Company and crown. But I am not Baneham. And, you and I are not joined solely because of your danger.”
“We aren’t?”
His eyes gleamed with intent. “I have wanted to make you mine ever since you uttered the words ‘Cousin Charles has brought me a gift.’”
A pleased shiver rippled down her spine. “My exact words. You remember?”
“Of course. Your voice sang in my blood. Everything changed. I am in unchartered waters, sweetness.”
Suddenly, under the layers of worsted wool blandness, the heady power of being Lady Scandal, a woman who devastated men with a single glance, surged in Sophia’s blood.
Randolph was making himself the conquest. Oh, the temptation was irresistible.
As if he could sense her vacillation, he gently removed and discarded her bonnet. Threading his fingers into her hair, he kissed her as if his thirst was insatiable and she was a draught of whisky to be drained.
She was caught, suspended, knowing she had finally been rent by lightning and the distant thunder would soon rumble into her bones. This need for him, this draw, came like a shock, blotting out all sense and reason. This was a call she must answer.
Challenge.
Panic rolled toward her like approaching rain. As if he sensed the impending clatter, Randolph broke the kiss. He held her tight and silent, sheltering her with his body and his strength. In his arms she felt something she should not feel—safe.
And unbearable longing blossomed. But hope and deception made deadly bedfellows. He did not work for Kasai. He did not kill her father. He did not mean her harm.
But he was a spy. A spy’s work was never done, and a spy’s world was never safe.
But even as her mind protested, she had already given her answer. She accepted his challenge. What other choice did she have? After all, she had used a cursed set of weighted dice to throw the game that had made her his wife.
…
“Fuck the rules… yours truly, Randolph.”
Randolph held Sophia tightly; pouring into the fierceness of his embrace everything he could not put into words…his protection, his hope, and his fear.
There was good reason to fear.
Helena and Lord Eustace were out there. One or both were likely working for Kasai. If the duchess’s suspicions were correct, Lord Eustace was the tool Kasai would use to bring down the English government.
Lady Scandal Page 10