by Wendy Vella
“There is no pain, Patrick,” Sophie whispered, brushing tiny kisses over his jaw. She shuddered as he withdrew and drove into her again. The pressure built with each thrust, each one felt deeper and harder than the last until she was mindless with pleasure.
“Come with me, Sophie,” Patrick urged, as he felt her sweet body shuddering for release beneath him.
“Yesssss,” Sophie cried, sobbing his name.
Lifting her hips higher, Patrick drove into her again and again until they were both caught as wave upon wave of pleasure crashed over them, leaving them breathless and panting.
He slumped on top of her, crushing her with his weight, yet he had no energy to move. Patrick thought about what he and Sophie had just shared—the most intoxicating bout of lovemaking he had ever experienced. Lifting himself onto one arm, he looked at her. Her eyes were closed, long lashes resting on her flushed cheeks, lips parted as she drew in deep gulps of air. One of her slender hands had moved with him, the palm braced against his chest, the other lay above her head. To Patrick she looked sated and thoroughly ravished and far too luscious for his suddenly disturbed peace of mind. Patrick only just caught himself as he lifted one hand to push a tangle of curls from her cheek. Lord, what had just happened to him? How had this small, inexperienced woman made him feel so much? Was this what all the poems were about, the odes written by lovesick swains? Love! Dear God, where the hell had that hideous word come from? Unsettled by his thoughts and the fact that he felt so out of control, he, the man who prided himself on his iron will, Patrick abruptly rose to his feet and crossed the room away from her.
Surprised when his weight was suddenly lifted from her, Sophie’s eyes flew open. She noted Patrick’s frown before he turned away from her. Oh lord! Sophie thought as a wave of humiliating heat flushed her cheeks. He was regretting it already. She had been so inept at the art of lovemaking that he was trying to find a way to tell her goodbye. Or was he always like this after a liaison? Was she just another liaison and was he now ready to go back to the other guests? Perhaps he would then select another woman to couple with? Quietly, Sophie also regained her feet as she struggled to hide the horror her last thoughts had provoked.
Hoisting up her bodice, Sophie frantically searched for her hat and gloves. She wondered if she would ever make love unclothed; surely that was the normal course of events? An uncontrollable giggle welled up inside her; she was getting hysterical, he would hate that, most men hated a hysterical woman. How would she know the normal course of events and indeed why should she care? After today she would never again take a lover, never, she vowed silently, especially as she was obviously no good at it … the act. Sophie turned the key, pulled the door open, and ran without looking back.
Patrick reached for her as he heard the key turn in the lock. “Sophie!” he bellowed, turning in time to watch her go through the door and swing it shut behind her. Wrenching it open seconds later, he followed. Delivering several curses into the dark air, Patrick berated himself for his preoccupation. Again, he had treated her shabbily. First making love to her and then ignoring her when she had probably needed him most. “Sophie!” he yelled again, running along the path she had fled. He stopped briefly to listen for her footsteps, but heard nothing. He ran then, down every path he could find, but she had disappeared.
“You are an idiot, Coulter,” he berated himself as he tidied his appearance and walked back to the garden party, hoping to find her there. After checking every group of people, he was forced to accept that she had gone. His countess had flown and he still knew nothing about her, except that his feelings for her went deeper than for any other woman of his acquaintance.
* * *
Sophie had hidden in the bushes waiting for the earl to leave the gardens. Heart in her throat, she had watched him look for her, call her name, and eventually make his way past her and back to the garden party. How had it happened again? He had only kissed her and she had fallen like a brazen hussy into his arms, eager and willing for him to take her. Pressing the backs of her hands to her hot cheeks, she was glad no one could see her, she would be doomed, for surely never had a person looked more ravished than she. Her skirts were creased, she had lost her gloves, and although she had tried to stuff her hair into her bonnet, without pins, it was a fruitless task. Dear lord, how did people carry on liaisons undetected; they must have their maids nearby.
Peeking out from her hiding place, Sophie could see no other guests so she stepped onto the path. Locating Letty, while avoiding the earl, was her only objective. She would plead a headache and return to the house at once.
“Countess, how delightful to see you. I said to my daughters just the other day that we must have you over for tea one morning,” Lady Sumner said as she approached Sophie.
She was ruined; nothing would save her now. A woman walking alone in the gardens looking like a … a … harlot who had just been thoroughly tumbled; she was indeed doomed.
“Lady Sumner, h-how wonderful to meet you again.” Sophie sank into a curtsy.
“And this is Baron Gimmley, Countess,” she said as she gestured to the tall man beside her.
Curtsying once again, Sophie acknowledged the man in front of her.
“I will take a turn about the gardens with the countess. Baron, we will escort each other back.”
Sophie watched Lady Sumner flick her wrist, dismissing the Baron, and in seconds she was alone with the formidable woman.
“Take my arm, child.”
She did, because really there was no other option. The two began to walk slowly down a colorful path bordered with bright blooms.
“I love pansies; they have small happy faces and come in outrageous colors, and if there is one thing I adore, it is to be outrageous,” Lady Sumner stated.
Sophie giggled—she couldn’t help it, the sound just emerged.
“Now here’s what we shall do, dear. I will take you through the gardens and around the house and then I will settle you in my carriage. I shall then tell Letty that you have taken ill from the sun and that she is not to worry as you are safely on your way home.”
“I-I thank you, my lady. I have no rights to your kindness, but I thank you for it all the same.”
Sophie felt a large warm hand settle on top of hers.
“Nonsense, child, I have daughters of my own and was once young myself. There are times when we merely need a little assistance. The baron will keep his counsel, as he knows that if he doesn’t, he will answer to me. Therefore, this little interlude will be our secret.”
Looking up into the twinkling blue eyes, Sophie saw the humor and kindness that was so obvious in her son.
“I like you, Sophie. I hope you don’t mind me calling you that?” Lady Sumner asked.
“I would be honored.”
“Excellent. Well as I was saying, I like you, Sophie, and more importantly, I like that you have managed to get under Patrick’s skin.”
“Oh I-I …”
“Had things his own way for far too long, dear. Not good for a man, all that cowering and simpering, needs to be stood on his head occasionally, and it’s my belief you’re just the girl for the job.”
“Oh n-no you have that wr …”
“Say no more, my dear, and let us get you away from prying eyes.”
Stunned by Lady Sumner’s words, Sophie allowed the woman to lead her to her carriage. Her head was spinning over the one-sided conversation they had just shared. Lady Shubert had singled her out earlier to distract Lord Coulter and now Lady Sumner was suggesting that they shared a connection. Sophie would have to put a stop to any further gossip linking her name to Lord Coulter’s, and to do that she must keep her distance from him.
“We will take tea soon, Countess,” Lady Sumner said, pushing Sophie gently into the waiting carriage.
“Oh yes, my lady, I would be honored,” Sophie called as the door shut behind her.
* * *
“I have just met with a mutual acquaintance of ours, Patrick,
and was alarmed to see her in such a distressed state.”
Patrick, who had just swallowed a large mouthful of hideously sweet wine, choked. Never a woman of delicate gestures, Lady Sumner took the opportunity to smack him soundly between the shoulder blades. Eyes watering, throat dry, Patrick finally managed to rasp out, “Thank you.”
“Hair in disarray, skirts crumpled. Really, Patrick, I thought better of you. Surely you know how to treat a lady of consequence, or are you so used to those mistresses that you are in need of a lesson in manners?”
Sophie was still here? Patrick instinctively started looking around amongst the guests.
“I put her in my carriage and sent her home, so you can stop looking for her.”
The best defense with Lady Sumner was silence. If you gave her nothing to argue with, she would soon run out of steam. However, Patrick knew he had to say something, so he opted for a show of ignorance.
“I’m sorry, of whom are you speaking?”
Damn, she was giving him the look she gave Stephen. He had only been the recipient of that look once before, but once was enough. She took a step closer to him, holding his gaze with her own.
“Do not play games with me, Patrick; I knew you when you were in short pants, and I am not afraid of your reputation either.”
God she’d done it, just like she did to Stephen; he couldn’t hold her gaze, so he dropped his eyes. He, a man who cowered to no one.
“I shall offer nothing more on the subject, Patrick.…”
“Excellent,” he muttered, which earned him a prod in the chest with a surprisingly pointy finger.
“Just that I like her, Patrick. She is a lady, a gentle lady who deserves your respect.”
“Yes, my lady.” Jesus! He was mumbling like a chastened schoolboy.
“And for what it is worth, Patrick, I think she will suit you nicely.”
She walked away before he could challenge that last comment; Patrick was tempted to stomp after her, but something stopped him and he wasn’t sure what.
* * *
Several days later, Sophie woke with a pounding heart. Weak moonlight from the crack in the curtains told her it was still dark outside. The sound of raised voices in the street had her throwing back the covers and walking to the window. Drawing the curtains, she pressed her forehead to the chilled glass and looked below. A carriage was pulled up outside Letty’s house, swaying wildly from side to side. Sophie blushed at the memory of what she and Patrick had been doing in his carriage; had it swayed like that? Using both hands to pull the sash hard, she lifted the window high enough to push her head outside. Gasping as a blast of cold night air hit her in the face, Sophie studied the carriage. It was not from this street; she knew the markings from Letty’s neighbors’ carriages, and the faint light from the gas lamp told her this was not one of them. She heard a child cry then and a woman’s raised voice. Suddenly the driver lifted his whip and the horses started down the road at a furious pace.
Sophie felt a shiver of unease as she closed the window; something felt very wrong. Wrenching open her door, she ran barefoot down the hall to Timmy’s room, pushed his door open, and slipped inside. His bed was against the far wall and her heart eased as she saw the small mound beneath the blankets. Her brother slept on his stomach with his bottom in the air. She would just tuck him in and go back to her own bed.
Her hand reached to stroke his soft hair and found nothing. Frantically pulling the covers aside, she found a mound of blankets but no Timmy—touching the small indentation where he had lain, she felt the warmth from his body.
Sophie stuffed her fist in her mouth to stop the cry she desperately wanted to release. It had been him in that carriage, she was sure of it. Turning toward the door, she saw a note propped against a book upon the small table. Ripping it open she took it to her room and lit a candle, which took her several attempts as her fingers were shaking so badly. “Pleeeease,” she prayed and finally was rewarded with a flame. Sophie lifted the note closer to the light, fear clawing at her throat as she recognized the blackmailer’s writing.
See how easy it is for me to take what is yours, Sophie Beams. Your brother and his maid are now in my care.
Dropping the note, Sophie wrapped her arms around her waist, rocking back and forth as she thought of her little brother and how he must be suffering. Terror gripped her as horrifying thoughts chased through her head. Would she see Timmy again? Was he warm? Would they feed him? She felt helpless and alone.
Think, Sophie. There must be something you can do. Should she wake Letty? No, there was nothing she could do. Amelia was the only other person she called “friend,” yet again what could she do? Think harder, Sophie, there must be something or someone who can help you. It did not take her long to come up with the answer. Even though she had not seen him for several days, she knew that only he could help her now. Finding her warmest cloak, she pulled it over her nightgown, then laced on her sturdiest walking boots. Finally, she found her thick winter gloves and was ready to leave.
She crept down the stairs as quietly as she could and went into the front parlor. Removing the sturdy poker from beside the fireplace, Sophie opened the front door and walked out into the cold London night. Pulling up the hood of her cloak, she hurried down the stairs and made her way along the deserted street.
Sophie’s heart was pounding painfully in her chest as she worked her way quickly and quietly toward the Earl of Coulter’s residence. Occasionally a carriage would clatter by and she would merge into the shadows until it passed, her hands gripping the solid weight of the bar in case she needed to use it to defend herself. Nothing would stop her from getting help for Timmy and Mary.
“Dear God, Timmy!” she cried, as tears threatened to cloud her vision. At least they had taken Mary, too; Timmy’s nanny was a stout, strong woman who would make sure the little boy was safe until Sophie could find him. And she would find him. She had promised her mother that she would keep Timmy safe, and she would not renege on that promise now.
Narrowly missing the back of a stationary coach, Sophie moved deeper into the shadows as she heard the door swing open. She did not wait to see who stepped down, as surely they would be either inebriated or returning from some late-night activity. There was no way Sophie could afford to be seen or stopped; her brother and Mary’s life depended on it. She never wavered in her decision, even though she knew that what she was about to do would surely ruin both hers and Letty’s reputations.
She would have to tell him everything, the truth. She had made this choice rather than seeking Letty’s help, because he would know instantly what to do. Patrick might be angry with her, but his deep integrity and morals would make him help find Timmy and Mary, of this Sophie had no doubt.
Cold began to seep into her bones, but Sophie ran on. It felt as though she had been out here alone in the dark for hours, and in truth she had no idea of the time. Was that the right street? Sophie squinted; the gas lamps did not light the whole street and created an eerie feeling, making the shadows seem sinister. Having driven by Patrick’s house only once before with Letty, Sophie was terrified she would never find it again. Undecided, she stopped to look around her. Surely that was the house of Lord Baker up ahead; she had accompanied Letty there several times when she came to sit with the ailing Lady Baker. Sophie’s sides began to burn as she started running down the street. She had to get to him, he would help her to get Timmy back safe, she knew he would, he just had to.
Sophie had no idea how long she ran, but finally she found the street Patrick lived on. The houses were grand and spaced some distance apart; Patrick’s was the grandest, with large columns and several floors. Running up the stone steps, she lowered the poker to the ground and pounded on the enormous solid-looking door. Just when Sophie thought she was going to have to start yelling or run around the back to the servants’ entrance, the door opened.
“Who are you?”
She took several deep breaths, trying to still the thumping in her ches
t. The butler had thrown on his jacket and pants with some haste, as the former was buttoned in a haphazard fashion.
“I need Lord Coulter, please wake him now!” Sophie gasped, clutching her side as a sharp pain sliced through her.
“He has no use for a woman like you,” the butler said, looking her up and down, his lip curling slightly. She watched in horror as he began to close the door.
“No!” Sophie screamed, and placing both hands on the door, she pushed with all her strength. The butler stumbled back and she rushed inside. Desperate, heart thumping, she looked around the entranceway and then, cupping both hands around her mouth, she yelled with the last of her energy.
“Patrick!”
“I will have you put in irons, young lady, if you do not leave at once!” the butler roared. This time he had completely recovered his wits and was looking furious.
Sophie knew she had seconds before he picked her up and removed her, so she shouted again.
“Patrick!”
CHAPTER NINE
“What the hell is going on, Fletcher!”
“Patrick!” Sophie cried, looking to the top of the stairs before her, where he now stood wearing only a pair of trousers. Lifting the hem of her nightgown, she ran, flying up the stairs, and threw herself into his arms.
“Sophie?” Patrick said, as he instinctively caught her and then closed his arms around her shaking form. She was incoherent, alternately babbling words and drenching his chest with a torrent of hot tears.
“My lord?” Fletcher said.
“Make tea and stoke the fire in my study, Fletcher,” Patrick said.
“What the hell is all the bloody noise? Can a man not expect a peaceful sleep?” Stephen groused from behind Patrick. “Christ, is that Sophie?”
“She just arrived in this state and I have no idea yet as to why,” Patrick said. “Get dressed and meet me downstairs,” he added and then picked Sophie up and carried her into his room.