“You said you were close. Was his behavior suspect then? The least bit worrying?”
Her brows drew together. “No. I never could . . .” She paused. “I never could reconcile the rumors with what I knew to be true of the man.”
“Might I suggest you follow your own instincts in the matter?”
She laughed, but it sounded hollow even to her ears. “I no longer trust my instincts. They are all befuddled.”
The waltz came to a close, and they slowed their movements. “Well,” he said, “I shall leave you to puzzle it through. I will say, however, when I find myself confused, I try to focus on only the matter before me and block out all other noise. And there will always be a plentiful amount of exterior noise.”
He smiled and bowed. She dipped into a curtsey, perplexed, and watched his back as he disappeared into the crowd. A hand on her elbow pulled her attention away, and she looked over her shoulder to see Anthony’s glowering face.
“Would you like me to offer felicitations now?” he asked. “I suppose he is someone you might find tolerable enough to marry?”
Chapter 19
Sophia gaped at him for a moment before recovering herself. “He is one of a few, yes,” she said truthfully. “I do not believe, however, that he has an interest in me.”
He shot her a flat look, as though she was ridiculous. “Of course he has an interest in you. Why wouldn’t he?”
“He appears to fancy Miss Scarsdale.” She pulled her elbow away from Anthony’s grasp. “He sang your praises highly enough. Did you send him to me in order to convince me you are—”
“Might I accompany you for a stroll on the verandah?” he interrupted with a light bow and a gesture toward the doors. She was aware, then, of the thick crowd and close press of people. They had no privacy, certainly, and irritated as she was, she didn’t care for an audience.
She led him out, aware that he was signaling someone behind her. She turned to see both Major Stuart and Rachael making their way toward them, and when they all reached the relative cool of the outdoor space, she took a deep breath. There were far fewer people outside than she might have imagined, given the crush inside. The air was heavy with the exotic scent that she was coming to identify as uniquely India, and she wished for a moment she might run by herself into the dark of night and do nothing but breathe.
“I do not know what he has told you,” Sophia said to Major Stuart in an undertone, “but—”
“Sophia, it is true. All of it.”
“Major.” She shook her head. “I know you are friends, but his tale is ludicrous!”
“That may be, but it is no less than the truth.” He paused. “I have seen the verification of it with my own eyes. Captain Miller left behind a private journal that verifies the things Anthony has told me.”
Rachael also stared at Major Stuart. “Did you never think to mention this to us?”
Stuart glanced uneasily at Anthony, whose gaze Sophia had felt heavily upon her since the moment they’d stepped outside. He’d refrained from speaking, and she wondered if he’d say something, anything, that would extricate his friend from the hole he was neatly digging for himself.
“I must speak to Sophia for a moment,” Anthony finally said. “I would prefer it be alone, and if you would remain in the vicinity, it could be accomplished without stain on her reputation.”
Silence met his request, after which Rachael nodded. “I have been wanting a walk along the river after the stuffiness inside. The four of us can take a stroll, and you may have your conversation in relative privacy.”
Major Stuart led the way to a door leading from the verandah out onto the grounds. Torches similar to those at the Residency lit a nearby pathway, and before long the gentle sounds of a river were apparent. Other party guests were also enjoying the scenery along the river and throughout the grounds, and Sophia mused that it really could not have been a more pleasant setting. The air was heavy with humidity but not unpleasantly hot, they were far enough from Bombay proper that the slightly unpleasant waft of filth and sewage that occasionally blew over the land was absent.
The river wound its way through ever-thickening trees and flowers, their brilliant colors muted in the dark. “Rachael and I shall stop here, and you may walk a bit further with Sophia,” Stuart told Anthony. “Stay within earshot. I will notify you if we receive company.”
“Thank you.” Anthony gave Sophia his elbow, and she took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly as they began walking further down the path. He strolled with her until a bend led them from sight, after which he dropped his arm and grabbed her hand. He pulled her a few steps off the path and into the thick of the trees. His face was still visible from a nearby torch but the small space was entirely more secluded than propriety probably would have preferred.
He retained possession of her hand, but now that they were finally alone, he seemed at a loss for words.
“It is true, then?” She was pleased her voice didn’t waver when so many emotions swirled in her chest she was nearly overwhelmed. Perhaps the worst of all was a sense of pain. Betrayal.
He nodded. “I am infinitely sorry for leaving so abruptly, for being unable to explain.”
“You could explain it to me now.” Her voice was still steady.
He ran a hand through his hair, a sure sign of agitation. “I was assigned an information-gathering position during my time in France. During the war. I was compelled to create a story for myself, a persona, that would allow me access to circles where I might learn secrets.”
He paused. She remained silent, and he continued.
“When my brother died, and I was called home as the next heir to inherit, I was happy to be finished with the whole of it. I did not enjoy the ruse, the lies, the secrets. I lived in constant worry for my safety and the safety of those who worked with me. I met Jack shortly afterward, and then you.” He swallowed and looked solemn. “Then my father died, I became the earl, and I quite fell in love with my new best friend’s sister.”
Drat. Tears formed unbidden in her eyes, and she turned her head.
“On the night I intended to ask Jack for permission to court you formally, I had a visitor—my former employer. He told me of a sensitive document that had been stolen and explained I had no other choice but to resume my former role and retrieve it.”
She shook her head. “Why did you not just tell me, Anthony?” She looked at him, her vision blurred. “I am not a vapid, silly woman. I would have kept your confidence, as I have kept every personal and private thing you ever shared with me. I could have borne the rumors then, knowing that it was all untrue, that you were not simply leaving—” Her voice hitched, and he closed his eyes. “Leaving me.”
A tear fell from her eye, and he thumbed it away. “Sophia, my dearest,” he murmured, “how I wanted to. That blasted stolen document contains information that puts you at risk. You, Jack and Ivy, Catherine, and hundreds of others who are close to operatives for the crown, who have much to hide and much to fear from our enemies should anyone else obtain the document.”
“Explain to me how we are at risk.”
His thumb continued to trace small circles on her cheek, and she hurt so much she felt her heart would break.
“There is information about all of you,” he whispered. “Information about each operative’s loved ones and friends. Intelligence that could be used as leverage by the French or by any government or entity that wishes to extort something. You were all safer not knowing. Even Jack.”
She felt the shock of the pronouncement begin in her chest and spread to her extremities, a tingling sensation that made her feel faint. Suddenly it all made sense. Anthony’s unusually keen interest in the captain’s fate; his suggestions—guidance, really—to Major Stuart on whom to question about that fateful night. Anthony clearly could not investigate on his own and maintain his innocuous identity.
“So the captain was a thief, then.”
Anthony nodded. “He was a temporary custodian of the document I seek. He had decided to sell it; instead, he was killed for it. My theory is that whomever he had decided to partner with was greedy in the end and wanted the whole of it for himself.”
“And presumably, the killer wants his identity kept hidden, and if Charlie witnessed the crime . . .” She looked up at him. “He is in more danger than I even supposed.”
“There is much at stake. And the more people who are aware of the particulars, the more risk we all find ourselves facing. It was never a matter of not trusting you, Sophia. You, Jack, Ivy—there is safety in ignorance. Innocent comments do not accidently slip. A glance, a gesture—those who are trained to look for the smallest of nuances will be aware of the extent of your knowledge. I could not take the chance with your life, especially at the outset when I knew precious little about what I faced. But now you are in the thick of it, and I am terrified for you and dare not allow you to remain in the dark.” He paused. “Aside from that, I grow weary of other men proposing to you.”
She laughed, just a bit, unable to help it. And then she thought of the time that had passed, of how miserable she’d been, and the tears formed again. She was angry and frustrated, but not at him anymore.
“It hurt so badly,” she confessed on a whisper. “I loved you with all of my soul. And then I heard about your dalliances across France, your further travels through Europe, South Africa, for heaven’s sake . . .”
He shook his head. “It was never true. I have been faithful to my love for you—body, mind, and heart.”
“You never even kissed me! I had no desire to be publically ruined, but gentlemen steal kisses from ladies quite frequently. I hear all sorts of gossip in the retiring rooms. Do you have any idea how long I was waiting for you to snatch a moment at a party, perhaps two seconds in the shadows on a balcony—”
He tilted her face up with both hands and cut off her sentence. For all that his hands were gentle, the kiss was not. His lips moved over hers with an urgency, a demand, an explosion of emotion that matched hers to the last degree. He cupped her head, his fingers threading under her hair, caressing the back of her neck. He traced his thumbs along her jawline, pausing the kiss only long enough to rub his thumb lightly along her lower lip, as though unable to believe she was really there.
He continued the kiss, and she thought she would die from the pleasure of it. His attention, his ardor, was so much more intense than anything she had ever expected, ever imagined. When he finally lifted his lips from hers, his breathing was as unsteady and labored as her own.
He touched his forehead to hers and whispered, “The only truth in my letter to you was that you had indeed become my very dearest friend and confidante. I told you things I would never—have never—told another soul. Do not ever think that I have not wanted you every moment of every day since I first laid eyes on you.”
Her eyes filled again with tears, and she reached up to place her palms against his chest, over his heart. “I worried you would never be able to love only one woman, truly build a life of fidelity.”
He shook his head, a sound of protest on his lips.
“And I thought I was not enough,” she continued, determined to have it all spoken. “That because my station in life was once so far below yours, that—”
He pulled back and met her eyes, his own widening in disbelief. “How could you ever believe such a thing? I don’t give a fig for my title, and when did I ever suggest or imply that would be a cause for concern, an issue? Sophia! I would love you if you were still a lady’s maid!”
She smiled sadly. “And then all we would ever be is the master of the house catching the servant girl on the back stairs.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders and shook her gently. “Never.” His voice was fierce and gave her pause. She had confided in him, had told him of the times as a maid when others had attempted to take advantage of her vulnerability. That he remembered warmed the cold places in her heart. “Never would I be that man. Sophia, I love you. I have always loved only you.”
Sophia closed her eyes as the bombardment of his revelations, of the truths behind the subterfuge, mingled with the grief she’d felt for years. She hardly knew what to think, how to feel. The only thing she knew for a certainty was that she loved him. She was worried for his safety and her own, terrified for her family, Catherine, little Charlie, but the thought of running away was not an option. Trouble would surely find them all if the problem at hand was not resolved, and the thought of running away from him was more than she could bear.
“I actually believe you.” She smiled and sniffed.
He cupped her face in his hands again, his brow creased. “Can you love me again?”
Another tear escaped and rolled down her cheek and onto his finger. “I never stopped,” she whispered.
A whistle sounded—Major Stuart’s warning. Anthony stole one more quick, decisive kiss, and she pulled back and wiped her cheeks, managing a shaky laugh. She felt rather self-conscious, suddenly, and looked up at him through her spiky, wet lashes. He was tall and strong and beloved. His expression was wary, tentative, as though he expected her to change her mind about believing he’d told the truth.
“Anthony.” She bit her lip and found another smile. Impulsively, she reached for him, wound her arms around his neck. He pulled her close, crushing her, lifting her up against him until she was certain she felt the beating of his heart against her chest. She twisted her fingers through his hair and uttered a very dramatic sigh worthy of poetry.
“Finally,” he murmured in her ear, and she couldn’t agree more.
Chapter 20
Anthony entered the dining room early the next morning and considered the state of his affairs as he made his way to the sidebar where food sat in warming dishes. He had finally told Sophia the truth of his life, but they still were not engaged to be married. The timing was wrong, he knew it. There were still too many things at stake, too much unfinished business to rectify.
Of all the rotten luck.
He was grateful beyond words that he no longer was forced to hide anything from her. He supposed she might be wary, at first. He felt as though he must earn her trust again, and he was more than willing to do so. He would prove his fidelity to her every day, forever.
But for now he was forced to still pretend that his heart was unattached. If he allowed himself to examine his baser emotions, he knew full well that he wanted his ring on her finger as a primitive and overt way of staking his claim. She was a vibrant individual, someone who should never be dictated to or subjugated. The laws of the land favored the husband, but he didn’t, wouldn’t, own her. Even still, he couldn’t help but stew as he piled food on his plate and thought of the throngs of men always surrounding her. She was his.
He turned at movement in his periphery to see Sophia also looking over the food. She glanced at him askance with her lips quirked, and his heart tripped.
Mine.
He couldn’t halt the smug, self-satisfied grin that spread across his face as she curtseyed to him and bid him good morning. He strolled beside her as she added rice pudding and a small piece of naan to her plate, and then he held a chair for her at the table where they sat together and pretended not to be in love.
“You’re wearing lavender,” she murmured and touched a fingertip to the small sprig on his lapel.
“Do you remember what it means?”
She blushed. In all the time he’d known her, she’d never blushed at him. Because of him. “You’re thinking of me.” She bit her lip, her smile a combination of innocence and confidence.
He fought another wave of lovesickness as he realized they were finally continuing on the trajectory they should have been following two years earlier. She had always been straightforward, honest to a fault, and deadly accurate in
her summation of people even after only a few moments observation. She had a sympathetic listening ear, a quick wit, and a broad knowledge base as a result of her rather unconventional upbringing and tendency to read or study whatever interested her. He had returned from the war with his faith in mankind jaded, but something about being with her had made him feel whole again—perhaps because her life had not been an easy one, yet she still radiated positive strength.
All of those things were reasons he had been attracted to her from the start. But this girl who now blushed, who glanced at him with a mixture of coy and shy, who looked at him as though they shared a secret—which they did—he felt himself falling harder still. He almost wished he didn’t know how wonderful it felt to finally kiss her, to feel her physical response and know it matched his own. To know that in truth he would propose and in a short time—a very short time—they would belong to each other, morally and legally allowed to know each other as well as two people ever would.
The dining room soon gathered more guests, and Rachael and the Denney family joined their table. Anthony made appropriate small talk, acknowledged Professor Gerald with a polite nod, and refrained from rolling his eyes when Sergeant Mailor and his three sheep friends joined the fray.
Clergyman Denney sat rather stiffly at the table next to Sophia, though he remained aloof to her attempts at conversation. She fell silent, and he eventually invited her to services the next Sunday. She politely accepted, and Anthony groaned inwardly. That meant that he and her other friends likely would attend also because Sophia would insist she not be the only one to suffer.
Mrs. Denney sat on her husband’s other side and quietly watched the people around her. Her gaze rested fondly on her own daughters, benignly enough on the Fishing Fleet ladies, and skipped her husband altogether. She seemed to shrink into herself when he spoke, as though his personality overpowered and devoured hers. The only person with whom she ever seemed to converse with any sense of ease was Lady Pilkington. Perhaps a conversation with the lady of the manor might shed further insight on Mrs. Denney’s friends and guests. Heaven knew he was running shy of options.
The Secret of the India Orchid Page 16