by Sharon Page
“She must have been followed. Or the killer knew she was going to meet you—”
“I know. I will track down those leads. Go with my mother—now.”
“I shouldn’t be with your mother. I’m your mistress.”
“Well, love, maybe don’t tell her that.”
“I don’t want to be dishonest with your mother.”
“All right, damn it.” Cary walked over to his mother. “Mother, I have to give you fair warning. Sophie has newly become my mistress. I will take her to her home rather than bring her into the house—”
“No, do send her into the house here. I would like to speak with her.”
That Sophie had not expected.
Sophie sat in the duchess’s morning room, across from Cary’s mother. The duchess sat with her spine stiff, her posture utterly perfect—she was like a swan transformed into human form. Her every movement was elegant, and even when she sat completely still, she looked unearthly, like an unreal and perfect creature who would disappear if Sophie tried to touch her.
Sophie stood. “I am so sorry, Your Grace, but I should go to Cary—to Caradon.”
“You will sit down . . . Sophie, I believe. My son instructed you to stay here. You must listen to him. Tea will arrive in a moment. And you must tell me what is happening.”
The duchess spoke imperiously, if quietly. But Sophie shook her head. “I am sorry, but I need to be with him. I found the poor woman, and I might be able to help.”
Tea came then, brought by a maid in a crisp apron and white cap, and they had to stop speaking. Sophie saw the girl’s gaze slide to the side and drink in every detail of Sophie. Had they already been talking of her downstairs? She had been here three times, and one time she had been bruised after the attack.
The duchess poured the tea.
Sophie was rather stunned when the woman handed her a gilt-rimmed cup. “I shouldn’t be here,” Sophie said suddenly. “You—you wouldn’t have me in here if you knew what I am.”
“Someone had best tell me what is going on. Since you seem to know much more than I do, I thought I would speak to you.”
The thing was, she was a courtesan, but she hadn’t actually slept with Cary. And the duchess was pouring her tea, while her adoptive mother threw her out of her home for something less scandalous—because she and Samuel had been planning to marry.
Sophie set the tea on her lap, untouched. “It’s rather gruesome. I don’t know how to explain it without horrifying you.”
“My dear, I had to endure it when I learned my son had been taken prisoner of war. And before that—that other time so many years ago. I have faced terrible things. I doubt very much whatever you say will make me swoon.”
The duchess was very strong. Sophie wanted to ask her about the “other time.” Did it have something to do with Cary? Was “that time” the thing in his past that haunted him? But the duchess went on, “Why has my son gone rushing off to look at a dead woman? Does he know this woman?”
Sophie tried to explain as best as she could. Beginning with the woman murdered and left in his mews. Then the attack on her. “This woman claimed she knew who had attacked me and killed Miss Black. Your son was supposed to meet her so she could tell him.”
“And now she is dead. I am so sorry for what happened to you, my dear. That must have been frightening. And that area you spoke of, where you lived, it is a rather violent place, is it not?”
“The people there are poor. So there is some violence. But there is also violence amongst the upper levels of society.” Sophie was speaking rather defensively.
“But why was this other young woman in the mews in the middle of the night?
“She was a courtesan.”
His mother paled. “And she had come here to see him?”
“No. Cary—the duke, I mean, has no idea why she would have been here. He hadn’t arranged to meet her when he went after her at the Cyprian ball.”
His mother sipped her tea. The she set it on a table with a rattle. “My son was at a Cyprian ball? He promised he would look for a bride.”
“That was why he went. He knew he couldn’t marry until he healed himself, and he needed a mistress to do that—” Sophie broke off. Her impetuous words had gotten her in trouble. How could she say to Cary’s mother that he couldn’t make love?
“I do not understand.”
“I—I can’t really explain it,” Sophie said helplessly.
The duchess had gone pale, frightening Sophie. Then the woman said, “But why is my son involved in this? This is the job of the magistrate.”
“Because the woman’s body was found behind the duke’s house, and there is a Bow Street Runner who suspects he is responsible, so Caradon is trying to find the truth.”
“A Runner suspects him?” The duchess picked up a biscuit and nibbled at it. Then she put it down. “I cannot eat. This is terrible. How could such a thing have happened?”
“He is innocent,” Sophie assured her.
The duchess had been gazing out the window toward the park. She jerked back to Sophie. “Of course he is.” But she looked frightened. The terror on her face spoke of a woman who feared it could be true. Then the duchess said, “You do understand that my son must marry.”
“Oh yes. And I want him to. I want him to marry happily.”
“I saw the way he embraced you. He seems to be . . . rather taken with you.”
“Your son did not want to become my protector,” Sophie blurted.
Oh bother. Her tongue had run away with her. She went on, “He did it to save me, you know. He did it for the noblest motives.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I married a young man who went to fight at Waterloo, Your Grace. He did not come back, and I was left with no place to go.” She wanted the duchess to know Cary was a good, wonderful man. Since there was some reason she feared he might not be—if she could think him capable of murder. And since the duchess was sick, Sophie wanted her words to comfort.
“My son became your protector.... But did you have no family? Did this young man not have family?”
Sophie flushed again. “His family did not accept the marriage. He was a viscount’s younger son. I was—I was adopted and raised by a doctor and his wife, but my . . . husband’s family considered me beneath him. And my best friend also lost her husband, leaving Belle and two—rather, three—children without anyone to look after them. I wanted to help her too.”
There was something in the quiet way the duchess scrutinized her....
But even a duchess couldn’t see through the lies, could she?
“And you had no family. What of the doctor and his wife?”
Should she say they were dead? It would be the easiest. “They didn’t approve either.” She said it softly. She probably screamed guilt. Then realized her words made no sense. Why would they not approve of a viscount’s son? Heavens, they would have been delighted at such a match! Had she given herself away?
His mother sipped tea, then gracefully set it down. She was very thin. Her hands trembled slightly, as if it were a strain to lift a cup. “You seem a sweet and dutiful girl, Sophie. You are most certainly responsible and kindhearted. Surely, this is not the right path for you.”
“But there isn’t another one. My friend has young children, and they will starve unless something is done—and done quickly.”
“Could you not become a companion? A governess, perhaps?”
“If it were even possible, that would rescue me alone. I would never have enough to keep the rest of them. I prayed I would find a kind and generous man to—to look after me.”
“My dear, as a woman who was once a wife, I cannot help but balk at your hopes.”
“But I would not want to be—be with a man who had a wife,” Sophie assured her. “That would be heartbreaking for a wife, and I would not do that. When the duke wants to marry, I would not interfere with that in any way. I promise,” she said breathlessly.
“Oh, my d
ear, you already have.”
“I don’t understand.”
Color rose on the duchess’s cheeks. “I saw the look he gave you. I do fear that you have engaged my son’s heart. You are very beautiful and very sweet, and I fear it is going to be very difficult for any other young woman to compete with you.”
“Of course not. I’m not—not of his class at all. I do know what I am. I aspire only to protect my family.”
“Now I understand my son’s concern about you. He is correct—you do not belong in the world you have chosen.”
“I have to learn to belong,” Sophie said. “I have no other choice. There is no other way I can feed five mouths. No other way I could hope to give the children any kind of future.” She faced the duchess. “About the duke getting married . . . I don’t believe he can. Not yet. You see, I am not really his mistress in that way. Because of his terrible memories, he can’t—” Her cheeks were flaming hot.
“What on earth do you mean?” The duchess’s voice became sharp.
How could she explain it? “He is tormented by something that happened to him. For some reason, it interferes with his ability to . . . I mean . . .” She tried again. “He told me he won’t marry because he is haunted by these memories. I want to make him better. I want to make them go away. I have tried, but it isn’t working yet, and I don’t know what to do.”
The duchess was scarlet.
“It was from before he went to war, Your Grace. I’m sure of it. It must have been something that happened when he was young. Before he was old enough to—”
“I do not know what you are talking about,” the duchess interrupted. “There is nothing in his past. Being a prisoner of war almost destroyed him. He never told me what happened to him in Ceylon—he said he could not speak of any of it. But he was in a terrible state when he returned home. So thin, he was almost skeletal. I feared he would be like that forever. I was not well. I had fallen ill. I have never had a great deal of strength. But my son believed he had to look after me. Caradon fought to recuperate so he could take care of me. But whatever haunts him must be related to the time he was a prisoner. That is what it must be!” Her voice had risen in a panic.
The maid came in then. “Your Grace, the magistrate is here, and Mr. Rycroft, a Bow Street Runner, with His Grace, the duke. They must speak with you.”
Before the duchess could agree or refuse, a tall dark man slid past the maid and stepped into the room.
It was that suspicious Bow Street Runner, Rycroft, accompanied by Sir Henry, the magistrate. And Cary came in after them.
To Sophie’s surprise Rycroft was gentle with the duchess. Rycroft poured her tea and handed it to her. Then he took a seat opposite her.
“If you find this in any way upsetting, Your Grace, please advise me. I want to spare you the details—and spare your sensibilities—but I have to tell you that your son, the Duke of Caradon, had arranged to meet a woman in Hyde Park to acquire some information. That woman was murdered, ostensibly before His Grace arrived.”
Rycroft consulted a notebook on which he had written with a pencil. He asked the duchess several questions. Had she seen her son that morning? Had she seen him leave the house?
The duchess claimed she took an early breakfast with her son rather than have it in bed. She had felt the desire to go downstairs. Cary had then told her he intended to ride in the Park, which so many gentlemen did early in the morning.
“You were with His Grace from what time to what time, Your Grace?” Rycroft asked it bluntly, but with tones filled with respect.
Sophie was quite startled. It appeared there was more to the Runner than just belligerence. He had been harsh and suspicious when questioning her and Cary about Sally Black, but he was quite gentle with the duchess.
“I believe it was from half past six until just before seven o’clock,” the duchess answered.
Then Rycroft turned to Sophie. “I must ask you questions, Miss Ashley, as you found the body in the park. Do you want me to question you here?”
She shook her head, afraid upsetting details might come out. She went with the men to Cary’s study, though Sir Henry spent much time fussing over the duchess before they went, and he left the duchess in the morning room.
She told them about the visit of the Fiery Rose and her demand. “I don’t think the duke would have killed her, since she was going to reveal the identity of the real murderer.”
“Perhaps not. If the duke were the killer, she might have been demanding money to keep quiet. But she didn’t want you to know that, Miss Ashley.”
“This is ridiculous. Instead of bothering the duke, why don’t you investigate? Why aren’t you questioning the men riding in the park? Perhaps they saw someone! You saw the note the woman was holding, didn’t you?”
“We did. The one that confirmed the duke would be there—at about the time of the murder.”
“If he had done this, why would he let you find the letter? Wouldn’t he have taken it? Of course he is innocent. He was only just leaving his house when I went running to find him and summon the magistrate.”
“And why were you there, Miss?”
“I was attacked by this person, as His Grace told you. I wanted to find out who the killer is.”
They asked more questions—asking her to go over every detail she saw.
She learned that two gentlemen riding saw a woman in a cloak near the Serpentine, but they claimed they saw her later, leaving the park.
Once the Runner had left, Cary said thoughtfully, “I assume the person they saw was the killer leaving. A person in the cloak.”
“They thought it was the woman in the cloak.” Sophie frowned. “Do you think it could be a woman? Or they just saw a figure?”
“It was a man who attacked you.”
“Yes, but witnesses also mentioned seeing a strange woman.” Her heart pounded with fear. “Rycroft thinks you did it. He was kind with the duchess, but he is so determined not to show favoritism to a duke that I fear he would like to see you convicted just because you are a duke.”
“That won’t happen,” Cary said softly. “We are going to solve this. And I think Rycroft does want justice.”
We. He spoke of them together.
“The Fiery Rose was a Cyprian, and she said she knew who the killer was. If that was true, maybe one of the other Cyprians knows too. She was at the Cyprian ball the night Sally Black was killed. I think we should question the other Cyprians. Maybe she confided in one of them—oh! Maybe one of them is the mysterious woman seen near my room. Or this woman in the park.”
“You have a remarkable, clever mind, Sophie. That makes sense. I will question the Cyprians.”
“We could do it together?”
“They want to seduce me, love. I think it’s best if I do it alone. Now, I’m going to take you home. I want to ensure my mother is all right.”
Sophie went with him, but stayed outside the morning room, near the door. He crouched down beside his mother. He touched her hand, but she moved it away.
He straightened. “I am going to take Miss Ashley to her home, Mother. She should have some breakfast. And rest after this ordeal.”
His mother’s eyes stayed on him as he took Sophie’s hand and lifted her to her feet. He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.
“Is there anyone to look after her?” the duchess asked.
Sophie was startled that the duchess would be concerned.
“There are servants—maids, a cook, a butler,” Cary said. “They will be able to take care of her on my instructions.”
“Yes,” his mother said softly so he didn’t hear, but Sophie did. “You seem to have thought of everything. You seem very concerned about this young woman. And that will have to stop.”
Cary took Sophie up to her bedroom in her town house, intending to tuck her back into bed and send her maid upstairs with a breakfast tray.
But the moment he saw her draw up the covers in her new shift, her black hair loose, he re
alized—he could have lost her.
“You shouldn’t have gone there this morning.”
She lifted her chin, looking stubborn, but he growled. “If you had been there a little earlier, you might have witnessed the murderer, and he might have attacked you. He’d failed in his mission to take your life, Sophie. You might have handed him a second chance.”
She went very white. “But I had to go—”
“Don’t ever take such a chance again.”
How easy it would have been for the fiend to have killed Sophie by the lake with no one there to protect her. He wouldn’t have known until he found her.
“I want to savor you,” he said softly.
He needed to touch her. It was as if he had to do it to convince himself she was really safe.
With his fingertip, he traced her lower lip. When the sensation made Sophie tremble, he drew her forward, kissing her slowly.
“That was so beautiful,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I never thought there would be any risk. I was going to hide.”
“Don’t talk about that. Don’t think about that.”
She was so pale and shaky. He had used sexual pleasure to make himself forget hellish memories and events. Sophie needed that.
He nuzzled her neck, making her moan. Her skin tasted so sweet. He skimmed his tongue along the length of her throat. He could have applauded when her fingers clutched his shoulder and she clung to him.
He broke away from her. His body felt so hot. The way it did with her—only Sophie. She was the only woman to make him feel on the brink of control. To make him get steamy with desire. He had always been too distant before Sophie.
He yanked open his cravat, tore off his coat, and tossed them aside. Damn all the clothing, but he finally got to his bare chest. He had to sit on the edge of the bed to haul off his boots.
Sophie ran her hands over his back.
He let his head drop back, let himself enjoy her touch. It set his skin on fire.
She pressed to him. In the past, he could only endure intimacy if it was leading right to sex. Tonight, he realized how beautiful it was to have her warm body pressed against him. She moved, and her hair spilled over his skin. That silky mass was like being caressed all over at once.