Her heart beat in her throat while she waited for his answer. The moment was a boulder in the sand. With the right strength, the mottled footprints the past few two days could be covered.
“No,” he said finally. “Despite your coal-cupboard theatrics, I trust you.”
She placed the box on the settee where Hugh had so often lounged, watching her work with his wolf-eyed stare. She prepared to confront him. If she did not do so now, she would lose her courage.
“Please,” she gestured to her desk chair, “sit.”
He hesitated.
“I have a few questions I would like to ask.” She smiled sweetly. “I won’t bite.” Remembering his shoulder’s taste, she swallowed. “I won’t bite, right now.”
He flashed a wary look and sat.
“You bargained for your life with what is mine,” She tapped her finger against his lips in a gesture that silenced anything he would have said. “If you were a man like Baneham, I would believe you married me to deliver Baneham’s legacy to Helena…, not just to save your life, or mine, but to assuage your conscience.”
“You knew about Helena,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied. “Though I did not know for certain that the two of you were acquainted. I am disappointed you did not confide in me.”
He flashed a guilty glance. “I should have told you. Regardless, you must realize I made a false bargain with Helena. Our marriage documents are clear—I cannot dispense of your property without the express permission of your trustees, and you know they would never grant permission without your leave.”
She ignored the obvious. “If you must have one of Baneham’s offspring, why not choose her? She knows, plays, and loves, your game.”
He frowned in a way that communicated just how absurd he thought her suggestion.
“Baneham’s game is not my game.”
“Isn’t it?”
He shook his head no. “Helena is a means to an end.”
“Am I also,” she swallowed, “a means to an end?”
He ran his hand through his hair. His incredibly thick, soft hair. “No. The reason,” he flushed, “I gave Helena was true.”
He loves me.
The confirmation of her suspicion rushed around her like warm water. Ah, but she wanted to tell him she loved him, too. She took a deep breath and forced herself to be coolly rational.
“There is,” she said, “a craggy path between here and there.”
He could not give away what was hers by right; she had realized that in the process of her shell game—just as she had realized so much more.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
She leaned back and drew her finger across her lip. “I will trust you with Baneham’s notes and the sapphires, only if you continue to answer me honestly.”
He agreed with a slow nod.
“All of Baneham’s men committed some atrocity. What was yours?”
His brow furrowed in honest befuddlement. “Baneham sought me, not the other way around. He required no test.”
She voiced the suspicion that had been growing for some time. “So, Baneham meant you, from the start, for me.”
With a groan of reluctance, he nodded again. “…But then he discovered you had secretly married. I proved myself valuable when Kasai’s attacks grew worse. He kept me on.”
She closed her eyes. Oh, Father.
An ache throbbed in her chest—an ache not hers but Baneham’s. She’d been his unintended weakness. A weakness he did not understand and could not afford. So, he’d plucked her a shiny soldier and had planned to plant him at her door.
She opened her eyes. Hugh came into focus in a new light. He’d never been one of Baneham’s boys. He’d been the wall Baneham had built between his daughter and his enemies.
Ridiculously, she wanted to laugh.
She and Hugh had been brought together by Baneham’s darkness. Could they still be joined together by Elizabeth’s light?
“Have you spoken to Harrison this morning?” she asked.
Randolph shook his head no.
“Tomorrow evening,” she continued, “the Furies will hold a Soiree.”
“Here?”
She nodded.
“I presume,” he said, “this has something to do with the duchess’s intended return to Wynchester?”
Sophia kept a close eye on her husband. “Thea challenged Wynchester to a wager. The game will involve four throws of a single pair of dice. When she loses, she will return home for the summer. If all goes well, she will stay.”
“Dice? You said when not if the duchess loses…?”
“I did,” she confirmed. “Which brings me to the crux. You told me Baneham was a man of honor.”
“I confess,” he sighed, “discovering Kasai was his creation has tested my trust. But the ends can justify the means.”
“So you still believe he lived by his own sense of honor?”
“Yes.”
“A man of true honor would never cheat.”
“No.”
She stopped speaking and listened to the silence. No fire. No servants. No one to break the moment but she and Randolph. The hush gave her courage. Most of the crucial moments in her life had not been of her choosing. This one, she would force.
“Open the top drawer on the right. You will find a pouch with Baneham’s dice.”
He retrieved the pouch and tossed contents on the table. Frowning, he lifted them and tossed them again. And again. And again.
“Weighted,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “The odds of rolling a seven are quite good.”
“These belonged to Baneham?”
She nodded. “He bid my first husband to use them the night he was killed in a duel.”
Randolph rolled the dice in his palm. “Corruption, lies, and blood.”
“On every level,” she added.
“He used me.” Randolph’s frown deepened. “He knew I would not let his fight rest.”
“He used you.” Her eyes softened. “His only act for which I am grateful.”
He looked up. His intent gaze quickened every sense.
“Allow me,” she continued, “to paraphrase another ruthless man: to estimate the intelligence of a ruler, look at the men he has around them.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“That depends,” she stood and reached out, “on you.”
He stared at her hand as if she held poison. “Please don’t.”
“You don’t want me?”
“I want you, sweetness. But I cannot have what I want.” His voice cracked. “You were right. A return to Baneham’s world would destroy you. I cannot drag you there.”
Her heart turned to liquid—soft, hot and churning. “Why did you fill my tea with laudanum and send me away?”
His eyes went to his hands. “Because you deserve better.”
Ah. The dear man. The dear, stupid, terrified man. “Who will I find better than a man who finds me the most desirable woman in the world?”
He leveled his gaze. His eyes had grown red. “You heard Helena. She is a child of The Ruthless. If you stay with me, then you—”
“If I stay with you,” she interrupted, “I will be as I always have been…and possibly even more.”
His jaw flinched, but he made no other movement. “Sophia…the Under Secretary is Kasai or he is working for Kasai, but,” he inhaled sharp and quick, “before we take him down, you can use his influence to your benefit.”
She did not like his tone. “What do you mean?”
“The Under Secretary offered to have all evidence of our marriage removed. You could be free of me. The records would simply disappear.”
“I see.” Sophia’s throat dried. “And if the Under Secretary is Kasai, he will come after me as soon as I am free.”
His eyes grew dark and fierce. “I will keep you safe, no matter what.”
“And if,” Sophia said slowly. “I do not wish to have all the reco
rds disappear?”
His red eyes blinked. “Are you with child?”
“It is still too soon to tell.” She watched him—God help her—with hawk eyes. “Would you like it to be so?”
His shoulders slumped. He turned away. She summoned all her strength to keep herself from kissing the wet mess that leaked from the corners of his eyes.
“I should not want it to be so.” His voice was hoarse and troubled. “I have to leave so you can have a chance at happiness.”
Thea was right. Men were thick as a medieval Scotland keep’s walls. She walked to his chair and gripped each arm, hovering above him like, well, a vengeful Fury.
“I forgive you for the laudanum and the deception. But underestimating my character and intelligence? Now that is truly beneath you.”
He looked up, wet eyes so deep she could swim.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Her heart cracked. “The Randolph I know would not give up with such ease,” she said, rephrasing the words he had used against her. “The Randolph I know would fight for me.”
“How?”
“Publicly claim our marriage and protect us from those who would see us divided.”
He whetted his lips. “What if I destroy you?”
“Damn Baneham. I give you Machiavelli: never was anything great achieved without danger.” She smiled, faint and small. “Even ruthless bastards have occasional insight.”
“You cannot,” he said, “convince me you wish to be shackled to me for life.”
“Can’t I?” She lifted the dice from the table opened his palm, and placed them within. “You have seen these dice before.”
He frowned. “Did the Furies use these at your soirees?”
She smiled and stepped back. “Ask the right questions, Hugh.”
He looked up into her eyes. “Have you ever used these?
“Only once.” She inhaled. “To lose a wager so that I could win you, instead.” She picked up her cloak and wound it around her shoulders. “I thought marriage would protect me. My mistake was believing my ravenous needs were only of my body. They are also of my heart.” She tied her cloak at her throat. “My mother withered as she fed false hope to a loveless marriage. I am not like either of my parents. And yet I am like them both. I expect you to choose me, Hugh. I demand all of you. Understand?”
He nodded in awed silence.
She leaned down and inhaled. She drew her cheek close enough to his for the warmth beneath his skin to demand a corresponding blush in hers. His scent coiled through her chest and held her still as if he were burning frankincense and she in prayerful contemplation. Her body had chosen him first, then her heart, then her mind. Now, she wanted to wrap them both together in a marriage beyond earthly vows.
She exhaled.
Every part of him pulsed his answer. Love. Pure and heartbreaking, an abrasion with the pain and power to heal.
He had chosen her body, heart, and soul—but his mind continued to wrestle for the most noble and poignant of reasons: He wanted better for her.
“Claim me, Hugh. Claim me so we cannot be undone.”
She would have to leave him in the darkness to grapple with uncertainties in a shell game of his own. Her eyes had grown as wet and red as his. She pressed her lips against the stubble-laden skin beside his ear.
“Goodnight, dearest,” she whispered.
Chapter Fifteen
“No matter the heartbreak, hold your head high.”
~Thea, Duchess of Wynchester
Sophia’s white petticoats were encased in cerulean skirts tucked up in a la Polonaise fashion and edged with a thin strip of indigo silk. Her back-laced bodice had gloves and fichu to complement, and into the ribbons of her hair she’d donned her version of a fanciful array of ostrich plumes.
…A fine ensemble for triumph or for heartbreak, whichever was to come.
Hosting a soiree when Lavinia had not yet observed the full year of mourning for her estranged husband could have been perceived by the Furies guests with disdain. Instead, the crowd was jovial and the coin flowing. No one, apparently, missed the late Lord Vaile.
Donning a slightly more respectable air, the Furies forwent the winged-costumed maids. And, in addition to the usual refreshments, footman served sugar-paste baskets with jewel fruits.
Sophia had not thought of Hugh’s weakness for all things sweet when she’d ordered the fruits. Not at all.
…Just like she was not thinking of him now.
She glanced again to the door. Where was he?
As if called by the uncertainty expanding like a rising loaf of bread inside Sophia’s mind, Lavinia appeared at her side.
“Here you are,” she said with excessive cheer. “A refreshing draught of champagne for my sweet Scandal.”
Sophia grasped the glass and drank deep.
“Huzzah to our Scandal!” A man yelled from a nearby table. “Drink to her health.”
Sophia lifted her empty glass in acknowledgment before placing it on the tray of a passing footman.
“Another?” she asked.
“I think not,” Lavinia answered.
“Drink does not affect me,” Sophia said.
Lavinia raised her brows. “Because you are not prone to drinking full glasses all at once.” She patted Sophia’s arm. “I know this is difficult, but, for Thea, you must remain strong.”
Sophia bit her lip. “How is our Duchess Decadence?”
“Showing an appalling lack of decadence, as a matter of fact.”
They leaned to the side in unison, to get a better look at Thea. The duchess dominated the space with a coral-red gown embroidered with black beads. The beads shimmered when she moved. Her smile was serene…and completely faked.
“Oh dear,” Sophia breathed. “Is she losing?”
“In buckets,” Lavinia replied.
“We must step in.”
Lavinia sighed, “I suppose we must.”
Bronward, who was playing Thea, let out an ungentlemanly whoop. Thea sat back into her chair, pale and shaken. That she’d even deign to let her back touch a chair in mixed company was troublesome indeed.
“Come Lady Vice,” Sophia took Lavinia’s arm, “let us rescue the duchess.” Sophia swayed her way through the crowds—pausing to give particularly loyal guests a watered version of her famous smiles. Her heart was no longer into mindless flirtation.
They arrived at Thea’s table. Sophia congratulated Sir Bronward on his win, while deftly evading his questions and maneuvering an unwilling Thea to her feet. “Come, dearest, I would like your opinion on the most delightful figurine Lavinia has given—”
She lost her words as two new arrivals paused on the threshold.
“The Duke of Wynchester,” her butler announced, “and Mr. Maximilian Harrison.” The duke had forgone his usual wig, and his black locks hung in wild disarray. He leaned heavily on Harrison’s arm.
An expectant hush came over the assembled men.
“Where is she?” Three, short words and the duke could not hide his slur. A moment later he gestured in the Thea’s direction. “There she is!”
“He is drunk,” Lavinia spoke in an astonished whisper.
“How,” Thea breathed, “how the mighty have fallen.”
“Let us hope,” Sophia modified the rest of the verse, “his weapons of war also perished.”
Grim-faced, Harrison led Wynchester to Thea.
“You, duchess,” the duke said, “promised me a game.”
Thea blinked rapidly, but flashed a duchess-y smile. “Indeed I have,” she replied. “We shall retire to Sophia’s study to play.”
A murmur of disappointment swelled within the room.
Sophia assessed her guests with a stern expression. “Oh come now. Duchess Decadence has already provided ample entertainment for one evening.”
She turned to heed an amusing exchange between the duke and duchess and smiled. She kissed Thea’s cheek and whispered, “Good luck, dearest.”
Thea returned the kiss with a well-here-I-go look in her eye. “Randolph will come,” she assured. “Shall we, Duke?” Thea took a deep breath, threaded her arm through Wynchester’s and led him toward the study.
“Do not think,” he slurred as they disappeared into the crowd, “my state will give you an advantage.”
Sophia glanced back to Harrison and Lavinia. “I don’t like this.”
Harrison made a low sound between a growl and a groan. “Agreed.”
“I will stand by the door,” Lavinia said, “in case she needs help.”
Harrison gave Lavinia his arm. “I will join you.”
Lavinia looked up at her lover, with an expression of gratitude and love so pure, Sophia’s eyes smarted. She turned back to her guests and forced a smile. “Play on, Gentlemen.”
The level of noise slowly resumed—not much could keep these men from their play.
“Scandal,” the man who had toasted her called, “what do you say to a game?”
“Not tonight,” she turned away from her fruitless stalking of the door and offered the man a conciliatory hand.
“You are stunning,” the man grasped her fingers and kissed, “as always.”
“Thank you.” She retrieved her hand, uncomfortable with the gleam in the man’s eye. “Now I really must be—”
“Come now, Sophia. Why not play with me.” His tone suggested more than cards. “You played freely with Randolph.”
A mortified blush crept up into her cheeks.
“Your expression confirms. But have no fear, consolation is my specialty.” He lowered his voice. “And I assure you, my rod is as good as his.”
“I do not,” she said with a glacial glare, “appreciate your insinuation.”
The man drew back. “I intended no offense.”
Sophia swallowed her shock and lifted her chin. If Randolph chose not to claim her—she realized with a sinking sensation—this man’s vulgarity was the least she should expect. Sly looks at best, and, more commonly, overt offers such as this. Her stomach lurched. How could she have been so careless?
She settled her shoulders. Hugh will come.
Then, as if by magic, the butler announced, “The Earl of Randolph and the Dowager Countess of Randolph.”
Sophia’s skirts swished as she swiveled.
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