A shiver chased down Sophia’s spine, followed by a rush of heat that made her hot and itchy. One foot began drumming the floor. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than fate. Some unseen power scheming to move people about like chess pieces. Father controlled them all with his rules and anger. To cope, she’d learned to comply, but she’d never enjoy being unable to make her own choices.
She was mistress of her own destiny now, right or wrong.
“I’ve never been to Derbyshire,” she heard herself state pointlessly.
Clary’s face lit with one of her infectious grins, dimples punctuating her mirth. “But now you’re considering it?”
“I am.” Relief accompanied the confession. Because after setting aside Father’s rules and society’s expectations, what Sophia truly wished was to finish what she’d started. From the moment she’d agreed to accompany Grey to Brighton, she’d come to care about his sister’s fate. His quest to find her was Sophia’s now too.
“You should go,” Clary insisted brightly. “When will you travel so far north again?”
“Probably sooner than you think, since I do miss you.”
“Me too.” Clary sniffed as her eyes grew glassy. “Go to Derbyshire, Sophia. I can’t leave Rothley until Michaelmas. You must go and have an adventure for us both.”
Would it be an adventure or pure folly? Sophia’s only certainty was the bubble of anticipation in her belly, the impulse to go. She stood and pulled her bodice down straight, swiping to arrange the pleats of her gown. “I’ll need to exchange my ticket at the station.”
“Yes!” Clary sprang from her chair and pulled Sophia into an embrace.
“I’m going to Derbyshire,” she said, sealing her determination. The decision was more than impulse. She was taking Cate’s advice and Clary’s encouragement. She was following her instincts, like Effie Breedlove would.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Grey woke in a sweat and lifted his arm to block the blinding glare of light riding dust motes across his room above the coaching inn. He’d overslept, judging by the oven-like heat of the room and the unrelenting glare of the midday sun. Scents assailed him—sour beer, damp wool, roasting meat. Hunger stoked his belly into a series of rumbles, but they were nothing to the drumbeat in his head.
The swelling in his left temple had eased, but the spot was still tender to the touch.
Worse than the train’s sudden halt was the fact that it hadn’t moved again, and they’d forced passengers to disembark in a small village near the county border with Derbyshire. A few determined travelers hired coaches to the nearby city of Derby. A handful took to the fields and baked in the late afternoon sun while the train and rail were checked for damage. The rest fanned out on foot into the village of Beeston, seeking shelter for the night.
Grey chose to join the last group and was lucky to secure a room at the Seven Winds. Their ale was dark and stout, their victuals hot, and the rooms were spacious and comfortable, despite the scratchy woolen blanket covering his body.
When he plopped his head on the lumpy pillow, a familiar scent wafted up, and he clenched his fingers on the blanket. Lavender. All the bedding smelled of the flower’s essence. He’d fallen asleep plagued by Sophia’s scent, and now the aroma was a reminder of her absence.
No, not her absence. That implied she belonged here with him or had left some emptiness behind. Ridiculous. She’d gone back to her life, and he would return to his.
He simply wasn’t used to waking in a bed alone. When he did, he was used to regretting the absence of soft, warm feminine curves pressed against his body. But this morning he missed Sophia Ruthven, and that was unsettling. Frightening. Far too specific, especially considering the tenacity of his longing for the woman. In a few short days, she’d cast a spell, snared a man she considered the worst sort of scoundrel. And so he was, but still he wanted her. Perhaps the more so because he shouldn’t.
“Mr. Grey?” a young woman’s voice, soft and sweet, carried past the booming in his head. “Coffee, sir?”
“God, yes,” he called, but his voice emerged on a hoarse squawk.
He surged from the low bedstead, pulling the blanket along to cover the essential parts of his anatomy. Gripping the wooden latch, he swung the door open and the innkeeper’s daughter’s jaw dropped to her chin.
“Coffee?” she squeaked as her gaze wandered to his waist.
“You’re a true heroine,” Grey told her, retrieving a steaming mug from her laden tray. “Thank you.”
She nodded as he swung the door shut. He settled on the bed’s edge and let the dark bitter coffee shock his brain into wakefulness. Beyond the inn’s window he glimpsed a copse of trees and a flat field beyond. That way lay Longcross, and nothing in him wanted to face either the estate or the memories it housed. A decade had passed since he’d spoken to his father, longer since he’d seen his mother. As far as he knew, she was still living in France. After Richard’s death, his parents had gradually given up on maintaining the pretense of a contented marriage and parted ways. Grey hadn’t kept in close enough touch to know if his mother had ever returned from the continent.
The estate lay north of Derby. As a youth, he might have crossed the distance in a day of countryside rambles. Now he decided the best strategy was to head to the train station, where he could both check to see if Becca had responded to the telegram he’d sent the previous night and hire a carriage to take him to Longcross.
He dressed quickly and started for the station without bothering to draw a razor across his jaw. Hours had already been lost.
The Derby station was surprisingly busy, and he queued impatiently before reaching a telegraph operator. The man searched a series of wooden cubby holes in an enormous cupboard running the length of his office. When his finger paused at the edge of a stuffed box, Grey held his breath. “We do have one here for you, sir.”
Hands shaking, Grey unfolded the crepe-thin paper. His heart began thrashing behind his ribs as he read.
Liddy has returned but not to Longcross. Still reason for concern. Come at once. Becca.
He needed more coffee or a finger of stiff scotch. His knees felt as solid as jelly but relief made him consider embracing the dour man standing behind the telegraph counter. Instead, he offered him a crown and set off in search of a carriage.
A train had just pulled up to the platform, its smoke stack puffing white plumes that obscured his view. He glanced down at Becca’s telegram again. How could Liddy have returned but not to Longcross? Another mystery to solve, apparently. Becca had him intrigued, but whatever “concerns” remained regarding his sister could be conquered. She was safe and at home in Derbyshire. That was the essential fact.
More important, it meant he could soon return to his life. To the den of iniquity he called his London townhouse, to the stage, where he rarely failed.
Casting a gaze toward the front of the station, he spotted a few carriages where passengers were loading their luggage before the conveyances rolled away. One coachman lounged against the side of his rig smoking a pipe. Grey beelined for the man.
“Already promised,” he growled as Grey approached.
“Ah, but are you persuadable, sir?” Luckily, he’d brought along all the cash he usually kept stashed in his London townhouse.
“Did you not hear me? Promised my coach to a lady.” The man sniffed, and his eyes widened when Grey removed a shiny crown coin from his pocket. “Might’ve agreed if it were another gentleman, but I can’t leave the lady stuck at the station on a blazing day.” The man stepped forward, dangling a wrinkled hand over Grey’s coin. “Tell you what. I’ll deliver the lady and return for you sharpish. Will that do, sir?”
With a sweeping look around the other packed carriages, Grey had to agree. “Suppose it will have to do.” But his usual inclination toward impatience sparked another possibility. “Where is the lady who’s hired you? Perhaps we could share your coach.” Unless the woman was traveling with a brood of children, he suspected s
he and he could abide comfortably in the confines of the rig without brushing shoulders.
“Said she needed to send a message to London.” The coachman pointed a crooked finger toward the station office. “Here the lassie comes now.”
A weight pressed on Grey’s chest, and he struggled to breathe.
Sophia.
What am I doing?
Sophia couldn’t locate Grey’s ancestral home on a map of Derbyshire. Not that she’d had sufficient foresight to consult such a document before setting off on her journey. She’d have to rely on her coachman for directions. He seemed an able man. Though her judgement may have been based on hope over reason. She wasn’t sure her discernment counted for much at all anymore.
Hours ago, in Clary’s dormitory, coming to Derbyshire seemed an exceedingly logical end to an endeavor she’d committed to days before. The sort of adventure she’d long denied herself. Now, as she stood at a train station in the midlands of England, her plan seemed fragile and flimsy at best.
Calling in at an aristocrat’s home without an invitation? How had that ever seemed like a good idea?
Her impulsivity was beginning to verge on frightening. From Clary, she expected such recklessness. But Sophia had always valued checking off lists, a carefully set table, clothes that fit to perfection, gardens planted in neat rows. A place for everything, and everything in its place. She’d stitched it once during needlepoint lessons with her governess.
Now it seemed the sensible nature she’d always relied on had derailed, and she was careening into chaos.
Cate urged her to send word when she arrived safely, and she’d at least accomplished that sensible task by sending a telegram at the station office. As she studied the dusty path beneath her feet and approached the coachman she’d hired to take her to Longcross, she weighed her choices. This was the last chance to decide whether to go or turn back.
“Sophia.”
Lifting her head, she spotted him instantly. He stood out like a beacon; a tall, cool spectacle of male beauty in a cluster of dusty travelers fanning themselves with folded train timetables. His buff linen trousers and waistcoat hugged his thighs and chest, both wrinkled but fashionably cut. His hair glinted like polished bronze in the scorching sun, but it was his grin that left her speechless.
He started toward her, slowly at first and then so quickly his hair riffled in the breeze. His mouth ebbed up as he approached, bursting into a brilliant smile. A few steps away from her, he lifted his arms, the start of an embrace.
“I received your telegram.” Her words stopped him short, pinning him in place.
“And you came.” He thrust his hands in his pockets as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them.
“Is my arrival very awkward?”
Grey dipped his head and examined the ground between his feet. “Not the word I’d choose.” He took one step forward as he caught her gaze again.
“What then?” She edged forward, closing the single footstep of distance between them. She had to know if she’d made an utter fool of herself. Squinting up at him, she offered suggestions. “Rude? Brazen? Impertinent?”
“Serendipitous.” His hand shot out, and he cupped her elbow, drawing her an inch closer. For an endless moment he simply took her in, brushing his gaze over her hair, her hat, each feature of her face, and then settling on her mouth. His perusal stoked a humming in her veins.
Sophie was grateful for her long sleeves to hide the goosebumps dotting her arms, but, for once, she had no wish to turn away. To hide from the giddiness he might read in her eyes, the eagerness in her expression. Seeing him reminded her why she’d come. Glimpsing the relief in his eyes swept away all doubt that coming had been the right course.
“Thank you,” he said, bending to brush his lips against her cheek.
Her knees locked, and a primal pulse began low in her belly. “Why serendipitous?” she whispered in his ear.
A soft rumbling chuckle emerged from the firm chest a hairsbreadth from her own. “Must there always be a reason?” He slid a hand to her back and raised his head to stare down at her. Amusement teased at the corners of his mouth.
“Of course. There is always a reason.”
“And you will always be determined to investigate the facts, ever-curious Sophia?” He was holding her now, both arms wrapped lightly around her waist. Despite the warm day, the heat of his touch felt good. Reassuring. If not proper, then impossibly . . . right.
“Probably.”
“Will you be wanting the carriage or not?” The coachman had finished with his pipe. He stood watching them with his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his trousers.
“I hired him to take me to Longcross,” Sophia admitted.
“I tried to do the same, but he insisted on loyalty to you. Shall we set off?” Grey took her hand, wrapping it gently in the crook of his arm. He bent to retrieve her traveling satchel, and the coachman picked up his larger case. As they headed toward the carriage, Sophia sensed tension rippling off him—a tightness in the way he held her arm and the firm line of his jaw.
“You’re not looking forward to returning home?”
“Dreading the prospect.” The closer they got to the carriage, the tighter his grip. “That’s why your presence is serendipitous,” he said as he helped her up. “Before I looked across the station and saw your face, I was considering any excuse to delay my arrival.” He took the bench across from her. The carriage’s narrow interior pinned their legs side by side. “Your arrival has given me a reason to go.”
She wondered if he could hear the clamor of her thumping heartbeat. “And Lady Phyllida?” Discovering the young lady’s fate was the rational, logical reason she’d come.
“She’s safe, but apparently not at Longcross. Another conundrum to solve.” He rapped on the side of the carriage to signal the driver to proceed. “Luckily, I’ll have your sleuthing skills to assist me.”
The moment the carriage rolled into motion, Sophia’s belly began to cartwheel. Grey’s discomfort at the prospect of visiting his family’s estate didn’t bode well. From every point of propriety, she had no business accompanying an unmarried man. “What will you tell them?”
She caught him staring at her mouth, and he glanced up guiltily.
“Tell who?”
“Your family, the servants, anyone at Longcross who wishes to know why I am arriving with you.”
He lifted his broad shoulders in a languid shrug. “Whatever you wish me to tell them. As much or as little as you like.”
“You intend to lie.”
“Actor. Remember? I have a talent for deception.” He drew in a deep breath. “My cousin’s wife, Becca, will be glad of your company, I assure you. Country life can be lonely and limiting.” He frowned as realization dawned and leaned forward. “I’m sorry, Sophia. I didn’t mean—”
“What you say is true.” No one had to remind her how cloistering life in a small village could be. “I prefer when you tell me the truth.”
He burst into a wicked laugh that resonated through her chest and settled at the pinnacle of her thighs. “If I told you the truth of what I’m thinking when you’re near, you’d never travel alone in a carriage with me again.”
She recognized his tease for the temptation he offered. Though she longed to know precisely what he thought of her, there was something else she wished to know first. “Why do you dread returning home?”
He turned to watch the passing countryside though the carriage window. When he gazed back, his eyes had hardened to metal gray under his thick ebony lashes. “If only we had a pint of ale between us and could play questions again.”
“I never told you about the rest of the game.” She’d learned the rules from her brother as a child. “If you refuse to answer a question, the other player may issue a command.”
Grey leaned toward her, edging forward until her knees were caught between his. He placed his palms on the bench on either side of her thighs, where her hands rested on the upholste
ry. “How would you command me, Sophia?” As her blood thrashed in her ears, he lifted a thumb to stroke the edge of her hand. “What would you demand of me here, where no one else can see us?”
“A kiss?” She wanted more than a kiss. Wanted that moment in the Eagle and Stag back, when he was gloriously bare and pressed against her. Wished she’d been braver at that moment and given in to the temptation burning her up from the inside.
Why cling to propriety when she might spend the rest of her days a spinster?
“You need only ask, sweetheart.” He covered her hands with his, edged closer until his mouth was inches from hers. “I’m yours to command.”
“Kiss m—”
He took her mouth. Reached up to stroke her cheek, her neck, sliding his fingertips into her hairline.
Sophia reached for him too, clutching at his shoulder, tangling her hand in his hair. The short soft waves sifted through her fingers. When she pulled him nearer, teased at his tongue with her own, he emitted a low growl that fired her blood. She reached down for the open neck of his shirt and slipped the top button free, then the next, snaking her hand inside to feel the heated muscle beneath. He flexed under her touch, but she wanted more. All of him, to see every part of the man behind the masks he wore.
“Sophia,” he said when she retreated to catch her breath, his voice hoarse and reverent. “Do you know how much I want you?”
Shaking her head, she busied herself freeing another button on his shirt, then lowered her head to taste his skin. Salt and heat and bay-scented male flavored her tongue, and Grey hissed as his fingers tightened in her hair. She kissed another inch of his skin, then another, finding a scar that stretched from his upper chest to the muscled bulge of his shoulder. She traced the line with her finger, then with her mouth.
“Stop.” He cupped her face between his palms to hold her still. A moment later he released her, and Sophia scooted away, flattening herself against her carriage bench. Breathless and aching, she felt the heat of mortification scorching her cheeks.
A Study in Scoundrels Page 16