“Be that as it may, I won’t change my mind.” He stared at his breakfast, his appetite having once more fled, and because of her. “I may not have brought honor to the bulk of my life, but I know my duty, and I will carry it out. My word is final.”
“But… but…” She clenched her hands into fists. “You care nothing for me, nor I for you. Why continue with this farce?”
Why indeed? A year ago, he wouldn’t have given a brace of snaps for this situation. After losing Lavinia though, his whole life had gone through an upheaval. Perhaps it was time to start caring, if only to stop leaving hurt and death in his wake.
“People all over England have been engaged for less.” Jonathan shoved his doubts, thoughts and feelings to the back of his mind where all the rest of his concerns waited—taunted him—festered. He picked up a piece of toast and bit into it, the taste of dust upon his tongue as he chewed. “Suffice it to say, I have my reasons,” he finally said when she stared with expectation. “And none of them are open to discussion at this time.” God, I truly sound like my father. Perhaps in this instance it wasn’t a bad thing.
A sound of annoyance left her throat and she went so far as to stamp her foot. “I am sick unto death of men thinking they know what is best for me and my life, sick to death of not having what I need to circumvent those wishes, sick to death that none of those men care to hear what I wish to do with my own time—my own body.”
He bit back the urge to grin even as another round of guilt twisted his gut. She had no idea how closely she mirrored Lady Archewyne’s view of society in general. “Unfortunately, Sophia, it is the way of the world. For the time being, you and I are stuck with each other while I accomplish my mission, but consider this: at least you’ll see a bit of the world.” His chest tightened when she appeared crestfallen and angry. “It is the best I can give you at the moment until we return to England.”
“The best you can give me?” She popped her hands on her hips in a gesture that reminded him of Lady Jane when the girl had worked herself into a temper. “How magnanimous of you, Viscount Trewellain.” Frost fairly coated her statement. “If I am truly your betrothed, your best is sorely lacking and somewhat disappointing.”
Ah, back to using his title. Good, that would ensure she stayed at arm’s length. “And remember, you are on this ship illegally. No one need know you are here, so it would behoove you to remain in this cabin. I shall endeavor to leave you alone as much as I can.” He stood and left his plate on the table. “I suggest you make your peace with that too.”
How the devil would he bring her along without proper paperwork and credentials? Jonathan shook his head and with a grim smile, removed himself to the bedroom. He was not a king’s agent for nothing. Dissembling was part and parcel of the job.
Still, the whole situation was insane, but at least he would do right by her, and eventually she’d be one less person to worry about. Change didn’t come about overnight.
Chapter Six
February 7, 1822
Between Gibraltar and Madrid, Spain
Sophia sighed as she glanced out the window of the coach Jonathan had hired. He’d presented a paper, offered a few coins, shared a couple of laughs with the two men who served as drivers, engaged in whispered conversation, and she’d been handed into a surprisingly luxurious vehicle. Even the squabs were comfortable, which was much-appreciated for this overland journey. With both his luggage and her bag strapped to the top of the vehicle, they’d set off.
Though terribly glad to be off the ship after five days—three of them had been rainy—spending hours traveling in a carriage to Madrid was equally as boring, for the journey would take another five days, of which they were in the middle of the third. The days of sunshine aboard ship they’d encountered she wasn’t given the opportunity to enjoy as she was forced to remain hidden in the cabin.
And the viscount apparently didn’t care. He’d taken himself off to parts unknown, probably to spend the time with the Hawkins family, and equally as obvious, she couldn’t do the same, for she wasn’t supposed to be there.
Another strike against the man and his freedom of movement. Why were the rules different for men and women, and why did the onus of behavior differing from society’s norms fall squarely on the female of the species?
The other three days, he’d closeted himself in the bedchamber and left her in the sitting room for hours upon end with nothing to do except read a slim book of poetry she’d brought or attempt to sketch—which she hated. Every time she’d sneaked over to the door and cracked it open, he’d had paperwork and maps spread out over the bed and had been in deep thought or scribbling notes into a small, leather-bound notebook. It was so out of character for the man she assumed he was, and she’d sorely wished he would discuss whatever it was that so arrested his attention.
But he didn’t offer, and she didn’t ask. Their relationship, such as it was, remained awkward and strained. Which left her alone, yet wasn’t that exactly what she’d wanted from him? Yes and no. To put it bluntly, if she spent any more time by herself, she’d go quite mad with no one to talk to.
Now, she huffed, crossed her arms beneath her breasts and stared out the window. Though sunny, but not warm enough to eschew the cloak, the landscape was boring. A vast plateau, everything was a dun color and dusty. Plant life was sporadic, as were buildings of interest. With nothing to do, she had plenty of time to think as well as focus her anger on the man who dozed on the bench across from her.
His blond hair lay in haphazard disarray, his greatcoat rumpled and wrinkled, his eyes closed. With his right leg propped along the bench and his left bent at the knee, the other foot resting negligently on the floorboards, he appeared every inch the dissolute, devil-may-care lord. How he could sleep was beyond Sophia’s understanding.
Of course, his rotted conscience didn’t bother him. He still had his freedom, whereas she was bound to him indefinitely with little to no input on how she would spend her days. She settled her gaze on his gray-gloved hands, the same fingers that had ushered her over the brink of pleasure not four days ago—the first time a man had ever touched her in any way. Tingles played through her lower belly and she shifted on her bench. What would have happened had he not left the bed suddenly? Heat accompanied the delicious flutters. Too bad she would never find out. With willpower, she shoved those thoughts away. Given his reputation, what he’d made her experience probably meant nothing to him, but to her, it had opened her eyes to what a relationship between men and women could bring… and had given her a sharp feeling of longing for an elusive something that she’d missed.
Throw him from your mind, Sophia. The man is nothing but a cad.
Desperate to stop thinking of him in a carnal way, she let her mind wander. It settled on the letter the viscount had viscously torn and thrown at her. One of the sentences from his father popped into her mind: I rather doubt you’ll remain faithful to your vows once you get off an heir. Heat crept over her skin at the thought of a baby, and the act that would land her in such a state. But he didn’t want her in that sort of capacity. That much he’d made clear. Her face burned from those horrible words he’d uttered.
No, the viscount wasn’t the marrying kind, and perhaps that was as it should be. He was haunted by his own demons; she’d seen that evidence in his eyes as they’d finally talked about their betrothal. Such a man would not a dutiful and devoted husband make. Romance should be a part of a union, and there was certainly none of that from the viscount. He was boorish and selfish at best. The knowledge in advance that he wouldn’t hold respect for marriage was good to remember. And though she was firmly on the shelf and well past an ideal age for wedding, Sophia had always expected a man to be faithful. A vow was a serious undertaking. Even if there was no love in the bargain.
At this point, I won’t marry for anything less. If that meant she remained a spinster, so be it. She would devise a way to get through life on her own. She always had. For now, there was still the unattai
nable dream of a dashing hero who would love her to distraction.
A wistful sigh escaped her, and Sophia returned her gaze to the window. I cannot start my life until I am free of the viscount. That longing circling through her would not be satisfied with her traveling companion. He wasn’t the one for her, and she couldn’t wait to be rid of him upon a return to England.
Whenever that might be.
Another hour of silence went by, and when she resettled on the bench to alleviate numb legs, she vowed to enjoy her life as it was currently presented to her. I may as well make the best of it. At least she’d have the opportunity to travel through Spain, and for a woman who’d never been anywhere save London a few times, this was a step up from the dreary circumstances wrought by her father’s vices.
“I know you’re not asleep.” She nudged Jonathan’s foot with the toe of her boot. “Your breathing is too fast.” If he thought to ignore her for the whole journey, he was sadly mistaken. “It will not kill you to be civil.”
“It might, so why tempt fate?”
“Pretend you are a gentleman and surprise yourself.”
With a sound near to a growl, Jonathan cracked open one eye. “I am resting. As a king’s man you learn to enjoy the downtime whenever you can. Leave me be, woman. I do not feel like being a gentleman or a blackheart right now.”
She rolled her eyes. “I have left you to your own devices for days. Since we’re thrown together on this never-ending journey, the least you can do is converse with me.”
A grunt was his only answer.
Oh no, you are not going to avoid me again. Out of the hundreds of questions circling through her mind, she grasped at one. “The men we travel with, do you know them?”
“No. Why?” He closed his eye again.
“Before embarking, you interacted with them as if they were contemporaries.” She frowned. “Are they agents as well?” Just how far did this clandestine network of the duke’s extend? “What did the paper you showed them say?”
The viscount remained frustratingly silent.
She twitched her nose as a sneeze threatened. “Tell me about your upcoming mission.”
“It is classified.” And still he ignored her as effectively as a disinterested cat.
The anger constantly brewing in her since their failed conversation on the first day of the trip bubbled over. She leaned across the space and smacked a hand against his knee, which made him pop open his eyes. Annoyance lay banked in those brownish-green depths. “You are the one who forced me to come with you. You are the one who won’t turn me loose. You are the one who won’t void our troth. Which means you are the one who will keep me occupied and happy. It is only right that you involve me on this mission so I do not appear a nodcock if a question or two comes my way.” She paused to suck in a breath. “I would hate to make a misstep due to ignorance… or on purpose, depending on my mood.”
A corner of his mouth twitched in an almost smile. “Perhaps, in this, you are correct. If I don’t take you in hand, you’ll endanger both of us.”
“I will not!” And I do not need to be taken in hand. As if she was a problem to be solved. Or somehow fixed. “How arrogant you are.” Again, she smacked him, this time hitting his thigh, and when his muscles jumped beneath her fingertips, she snatched her hand back. She needed to remember how hard and strong he felt. It was unsettling to her peace of mind, and she wasn’t here for an empty dalliance due to boredom—his or hers. “Out with it.”
“Enough, Miss Wickham. Please refrain from laying hands on me for any reason. And do find some way of curbing your tongue. I do not need a lashing every other minute, for I am well aware of my flaws.” He righted himself into a sitting position and grimaced slightly when he moved his right leg. “Before I reveal my mission, first, do me a favor.”
“What?” At this point, she owed him nothing, but monotony and curiosity raged stronger than her annoyance. “Within reason, I should add.”
Again, he almost smiled, and she vowed as her personal mission to encourage him to show mirth before this trip was over. “Remove the bonnet. I cannot take an assistant seriously if she’s wearing such ridiculous piece of head gear.”
“You consider me your assistant?” A tremble of pleasure wound up her spine as she worked the ribbon beneath her chin. Never had she been voluntarily included in anything having to do with a man. Her father assumed since, being a female, she couldn’t handle financial or business concerns. Not even her brothers let her tag along when she’d been young, when Stephen had been alive. And, her sisters considered her a burden for her unmarried status and naiveté in the ways of men and children due to her lack of experience.
He shrugged. “What else should I call you for the next couple of months—my fiancée?” Though the words were lighthearted, bitterness underscored them. “The alternative for two unmarried and unchaperoned people traveling together would be much more derogatory for you.”
Heat slapped her cheeks. I will not be anyone’s obligation or plaything. “I would prefer partner.” That meant equal responsibility and work, and was how she preferred it.
“And I would be more comfortable with assistant.” An emotion she couldn’t identify glinted in his eyes, but it served as a warning and she backed down. “If anyone inquires too closely into who I am, I shall do everything I can to make it seem I am a visiting professor with a thirst for scholarly knowledge.”
“I am not amused by the assistant thing.”
“And I don’t care.”
She fumed and then gave up the argument. It was better than the alternative, and no use drawing his ire again. She removed the bonnet. Yes, it was dated, and yes, she hated the confounded thing, but she refused to let him see that. There hadn’t been funds to purchase a new one when she’d left her father’s house, and when she began work for the Hawkins family, she’d been too busy to attend her wardrobe—a fact she rued now, even if she’d had the foresight to bring more than one change of clothing. “So then it’s true. You are officially on a mission for the Crown.”
“Yes.” He didn’t offer anything else, though he did remove his gloves and tucked them into a pocket of his greatcoat.
She bit back a sigh. Well, if it was her misfortune to travel with the world’s most stubborn man, so be it. A challenge was good for the soul. “What are your orders?” If he thought to look the part of a professor, he was sadly mistaken. No man of academia possessed such an impressive form. Once again, her mind jogged to what his body would feel like pressed against hers before she gave herself a stern warning and shoved such scandalous thoughts aside.
For long moments, he remained silent as he stared at her: assessing, judging, searching, speculating. Apparently, he deemed her worthy, for he said, “One of England’s peers has gone missing. A Lord Basselton, to be precise.”
The name didn’t sound familiar, but then, she wasn’t as well-versed in the upper ten thousand as she should be. “Courtesy title?”
“So it would seem. Does that matter?” His voice rumbled through the coach’s interior and caused the baby fine hairs on her nape to stand at attention.
“I suppose not.” Could not a man go away without a word if he so wished? “Is he a criminal? I’d wager the duke wouldn’t send a premier agent to retrieve the man if he hadn’t done something questionable or mildly treasonous.”
“Premier, huh?” Again, the viscount’s lips twitched, and this time he offered a tiny grin. Sophia’s mind tilted. Already handsome, the man would be devastating if he let himself actually enjoy life or at the very least relax. “I won’t even ask how you know about Rathesborne’s role in the agency.”
A certain amount of pride swelled over her. “Like you, I have my own contacts.” Except, how useful was the duke’s secretary if the dratted man couldn’t even tell her the viscount was a deuced king’s agent?
He cocked an eyebrow. “I am not surprised. You are quite resourceful, as evidenced by your manic tracking of me.” When he caught her gaze,
heat stung her cheeks. “Lord Basselton is suspected of stealing the crown jewels of Spain.”
She uttered an unladylike snort. “You’re having me on.”
“I am not.”
“Weren’t the treasures hidden in the royal palace walls to keep Napoleon’s ogres from finding them when the French armies came through and occupied the region? Most royal families throughout Europe did the same, for everyone hates the French and refused to further fund his war endeavors.”
“Very good, Sophia.” Surprise wove through the response and both eyebrows rose.
Pleasure warmed her insides from his praise as much as hearing her name on his lips. “I read, Viscount Trewellain. In fact, I enjoy finding out as much as I can about a variety of topics, but my father has a woefully inadequate library.” She shrugged. “Thankfully, Lord Archewyne has enough of a collection to keep me well and truly occupied, both in his London residence and his Kent property. I could get lost for days in the knowledge those books hold.”
He narrowed his eyes, but his expression remained neutral. “So I’ve been told, and those libraries are quite the favorite spots of the Hawkinses. They, ah, make full use of them.” Was that a faint blush coloring his cheeks?
What was he thinking about? “Interesting. I shall bear that in mind for later forays.”
“Just remember to knock first.”
“All right.” She frowned, not liking that he knew something about her employers she didn’t. “Contrary to what you believe, I am not an empty-headed country miss.”
“No matter what I’ve thought you were, it was never that.” He leaned forward, and his scent of lime and Caribbean spices wafted to her nose. “We have gotten off to a rotten start. Call me Jonathan.” He thrust out his right hand. A faint white scar marred the skin of his palm. “I’m the third son of the Duke of Werthsbury, and nothing was ever expected of me.”
What the Stubborn Viscount Desires Page 7