by Clee, Adele
Madame Labelle smirked. “Runaway? There is not a place I could go in this world where Victor would not find me.” She glanced at Sophie as though she were a small child who could not possibly understand the world she lived in. “And what would I do? Work in a tavern, let myself be mauled by the dirty hands of men who felt it was their right to do so.”
“Well, Dampierre has not found Annabel. Perhaps there is a chance for you, too,” Sophie replied confidently. It was the first time she had mentioned Annabel and Madame Labelle smiled as though genuinely impressed with the extent of her knowledge.
“My dear, Mr. Shandy,” Madame Labelle said, her tone conveying a hint of cynicism. “Annabel has the assistance of Lord Beaufort. Else she would have found herself dragged back to Wapping by her hair and deposited on the first ship out of here.”
Sophie’s eyes widened. “Was that to be her fate?” No wonder James had offered the girl assistance. She knew it had to be something important for him to offer her mother’s necklace. “Is Dampierre still looking for Annabel?”
Madame Labelle snorted. “She has been alone with your brother for more than a week. I doubt the buyer would still have confidence in her purity. Besides, Victor would not take the chance. He has a reputation to uphold,” she said sarcastically. “He does not deal in soiled goods.”
Sophie was shocked. “You mean Annabel was to be sold?” The thought that Dampierre traded in women disgusted her and she wondered if that was what he meant when he said he would take her on a journey. Would he take her to a foreign land and sell her to the highest bidder? Thankfully, he was too late. She had given her virtue away freely, to a man who made her head spin and her heart flutter. Even if there had been other mistresses in the past, he made her feel special, protected and cared for.
Madame Labelle held up her gloved hand but then paused to wait for a lady and her maid to pass by. “I have said far too much already. It is Victor who insisted I meet with you today and you must do exactly as he asks, for all our sakes.”
Sophie’s body shook: an ice-cold tremor shooting down her spine. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Dampierre’s beady eyes bearing down on her, his sharp stick thrust in her back. Relieved to find no one there, she turned and glanced discreetly towards the window, to where Dane stood keeping watch. She could just make out his muscular frame propped against the wall, his arms folded firmly across his chest as he studied her from the first-floor window. The sight of him warmed her body and soul. He was strong and commanding and she felt safe in the knowledge he was there.
“He will not rest until he gets what he wants,” Madame Labelle continued, as though anxious to stress the point that the Comte de Dampierre was not the sort of man one crossed.
Sophie paused. A part of her was reluctant to ask the next question for fear of the answer. “And what does he want?”
“Victor wants the necklace,” she answered bluntly. “He believes it reparation for the injustice caused.” She said the words without feeling or emotion. Perhaps because it was her intention to make it clear they were Dampierre’s words and not her own. Madame Labelle sighed. “He said you would know the one he refers to.”
“He wants the ruby necklace, the one my brother offered you in exchange for Annabel?” Sophie clarified.
Once again, Madame Labelle appeared surprised that Sophie was so well informed. “He will not rest until he gets it. Though why he is so obsessed with the thing is beyond me. He has never even seen it.”
Sophie frowned, the comment rousing her curiosity. “You mean he was not at Labelles on the night in question … on the night Annabel escaped?”
“No, he was not,” she replied a little nervously. “But I can say no more on the matter.” She shook her head involuntarily as if reaffirming the need to remain silent on the subject. “You must bring the necklace to him or …” she stopped abruptly and took a deep breath. “Or he will find some other way to recoup his losses.” Madame Labelle opened her reticule and fumbled about inside. “Here, you must take this,” she ordered, removing the ivory card and handing it to Sophie.
“What is it?” Sophie flipped the card over to find an invitation to Lord Delmont’s masquerade. Dampierre had friends in high places. “But I have never even met Lord Delmont.”
“Neither has Victor,” she snorted. “Let us just say, Victor has something belonging to Lord Delmont and Delmont will do anything to see it returned.” She glanced at the invitation in Sophie’s hand. “Victor likes drama. He likes to complicate things,” she continued with a hint of disdain. “He insists you attend and has even provided you with a costume.” She glanced across at Dane’s carriage, which had just pulled up alongside the square. “It is in a box in your carriage. Victor assures me this is all he asks of you.”
“Why would he want me to attend a masquerade?” Sophie asked in astonishment.
Madame Labelle linked her arm with Sophie, forcing her to walk slowly back to the gate. “You are to wear the costume and your necklace and at some point during the evening he will reveal himself to you so you may hand it over in relative safety.” She stopped and looked Sophie directly in the eye. “Before you say anything, he knows your marquess has it with him here in London. He dropped a red velvet pouch outside Labelles during a fight. The men recalled seeing it, despite the fact their eyes looked like juicy fat plums.”
“He is not my marquess,” Sophie snapped a little defensively.
Why did everyone assume she had a formed an attachment to him?
That seemed to bother her more than the fact she would be expected to meet with Dampierre … and alone at a masquerade, to boot. She had always wanted to go to a masquerade, where one did not need to worry about silly things like etiquette and reputation. Perhaps Dane could accompany her. She would like to dance with him, to twirl around happily in his arms with not a care in the world, to dance just once, just one delicious memory to keep her warm on those cold winter nights. Her stomach fluttered with excitement.
Suddenly, as though being chided by a strict governess, the voice of reason scolded her for being a slave to her own fancy.
“Lord Danesfield will never allow me to walk into a masquerade unaccompanied,” she continued, shaking her head.
Madame Labelle smiled. “Victor anticipated your response, which is why he has agreed that Danesfield can go with you,” she paused and raised a brow. “But he must secure his own invitation. I am sure, for a man of such great standing, it will not be a problem.” There was a hint of contempt in her voice, which was probably to be expected after years spent servicing the needs of the aristocracy.
As they reached the east gate, Sophie turned to bid farewell. “I doubt we will ever have cause to meet again,” she said earnestly, “but should you ever need assistance then please seek me out at Brampton Hall.”
Sophie was not sure what had prompted her to make such a declaration, particularly as she was potentially involved in Dampierre’s barbaric schemes. There was something about Madame Labelle that roused her compassion, roused her sympathy. In truth, if Sophie’s dalliance with Dane became public knowledge, then she too would have to deal with the same level of contempt shown to the madame.
Madame Labelle wiped a tear from her eye and reached out to grasp Sophie’s hands.
“My dear, Miss Beaufort,” she whispered softly. “I had thought it safer to see you only as Mr. Shandy, for no woman of quality could possibly be so warm and kind to someone like me.” She glanced up at the window to where Dane stood. “He does not deserve you.”
As Sophie followed Madame Labelle’s gaze to the window, her eyes widened in surprise. Dane was staring back at them, his arms stretched against the window frame as though he was ready to raise the sash and leap out. He looked powerful, masculine and roguishly handsome and the warmth she felt in the pit of her stomach suddenly ignited into a roaring flame.
“How did you know he was there?” she gasped, feeling breathless as she struggled to contain the fire that engulf
ed her entire body. She could almost smell his musky scent, almost feel his hot lips against hers; feel the weight of his hard body pressing down on her.
Madame Labelle smiled. “My darling, you have looked up at that window a hundred times or more. Now, unless you have a twitch …” Madame Labelle laughed and drew her into a hug. “What a wonderful dream it must be, to have someone who thinks only of you. But love is such a fragile thing, is it not?” She pulled away, but her hands remained on Sophie’s arms. “Promise me something,” she whispered, her eyes swimming with emotion. “Do not let him break you. Do not let him douse that fiery passion. For a woman, life can be precarious. It can be ripped from our hands in an instant, so you must make every single moment count.” Madame Labelle gave Sophie’s arms a gentle rub and then she dropped her hands and straightened her back. “Goodbye, Mr. Shandy,” she said with a curt nod. She stepped closer and whispered, “Goodbye, my darling, Miss Beaufort.”
Sophie watched as Madame Labelle sauntered across the street, with an aristocratic swagger so opposed to her status, and climb into Sebastian’s unmarked carriage. When it had rumbled out of the square, Sophie’s eyes flew up to the window. But Dane was no longer there and she was suddenly overcome with a feeling of disappointment, a feeling of emptiness, of loneliness and a desperate feeling of longing.
Lost in contemplation, she had not noticed him cross the road and enter the square. Suddenly, he was standing in front of her, so large and so strikingly handsome that she threw her arms around his neck in relief.
He placed his hands on top of hers and lowered them gently to her side. “Have you forgotten you’re wearing your Mr. Shandy guise,” he said in a husky drawl. “It would do nothing for my reputation to be seen hugging a gentleman in Leicester Square.”
“Oh, Dane,” she cried, thinking she must make the most of her the time she had left with him. “I want to go home.”
“And you will,” he reassured, concern etched on his beautiful face, “as soon as this business is concluded. What did Madame Labelle want?”
Sophie stared into his warm brown eyes, her heart pounding so quickly she could hardly breathe. “We will talk about Madame Labelle later, for you misunderstand my plea,” she replied her voice brimming with desire. “I meant I want to go to your home. I want to go now. I need you.
Chapter 20
It had been pure torture watching Sophie converse with Madame Labelle, knowing he could do nothing other than wait and hope that nothing untoward happened to her.
Not since the day he’d walked into the old convent in Saint-Francois a Beauvais, with bread that was highly sought after during such turbulent times, had he felt so utterly useless. It was there he had found Charlotte, looking clean but gaunt, her hair cut short and her dress gaping around her shoulders where her bones protruded. He had tried to slip her a larger piece of bread, but the loss of liberty unites neither minds nor hearts and an argument broke out, resulting in the inmates forfeiting all food for the entire day. He had not slept that night or the next three nights after. Not until she was safely back on English soil. With Charlotte, it had started out as just another assignment and ended as something deeply personal.
Now, he was able to comprehend the gut-wrenching torment Dudley must have felt. The need to protect those one cared for was overwhelming, completely consuming. The relief he felt when Sophie flung herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck — it was beyond heavenly and he was suddenly overcome with a primitive urge to calm, comfort and claim. It had taken every ounce of control he possessed not to throw her down on the ground and pleasure her until his head stopped throbbing, until his muscles relaxed and he had banished the fear clawing away at his heart.
Then she had asked to go home. Not to Marchampton, thankfully, but home with him. The word sounded so sweet coming from those soft, sumptuous lips, his soul had soared. Then she looked up at him with those dazzling blue eyes, a look that promised a host of sensual pleasures and told him she needed him.
It was his undoing.
“You are overset,” he said, swallowing hard, trying not to stumble over the words as he attempted to rein in his own raging desire. “Was it something Madame Labelle said?” He knew the answer but needed to focus on something other than the look of longing piercing his soul.
She shook her head as she bit down on her lower lip. He had never seen her look so … so adorable, so utterly ravishing. The thought caused a throbbing ache in his groin and one of equal measure in his heart.
“You’re not listening to me,” she cried, lifting her hands as though she were about to caress his chest, before thrusting them down by her side in frustration. She stepped closer. “Do you need me to spell it out?” she whispered, her breath like a soft breeze against his ear.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled her sweet scent: the undertones of roses and her own unique fragrance clung to her skin, stoking his need for her to that of a delirious fever.
He offered her a salacious grin, his own impatience to lower her down onto the grass and drive himself home was evident in his voice. “No,” he growled, “I do not.”
Grabbing her by the sleeve of her coat, for he could hardly take her hand, he turned abruptly and strode out of the gate and down the road towards Cranbourn Street, heading left into Bear Street and towards the waiting hackney whose driver had been paid handsomely for his service.
Oblivious to every other person on the street, he kept a firm hold, forcing her into a trot just to keep up with him. He ignored the disgruntled looks of those he’d barged into in his eagerness to be alone with the woman who roused his passion to the point of insanity. It had been mere hours since their last coupling, yet he felt famished, deprived, ravenous to the brink of starvation.
“Red Lion Square,” he barked to the driver, opening the cab door and almost pushing Sophie inside. “If you’re quick,” he continued, his impatience clearly evident, “then I’ll double your fare.”
He needed her now. He needed her like he needed air to breathe. Yet as desperate as he was, he refused to pleasure her in a hackney.
Climbing in, he slammed the door and lowered the blind in the hope a passionate kiss would suffice, would be enough to keep the fire stoked during their short journey. Yet in such a simple plan, he had failed to account for the fiery nature of the other occupant. He barely had time to catch his breath before she shoved him back in the seat and straddled him in such a delightfully wicked fashion; he could not help but groan in satisfaction.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered placing kisses along his jaw, behind his ear, as her hand fluttered across the fall of his breeches. “I do not know what has come over me.”
He did not know either and frankly he didn’t care. After a mild tussle with his conscience, all thoughts of decency and decorum flew out of the window. Her warm hand brushing against his bulging manhood played a pivotal role in his decision.
“Good God,” he panted. It was madness, like sweet torture. The need to be inside her was unbearable. He swallowed hard, trying to hold onto the last thread of restraint that lingered somewhere in a lonely, cobwebbed recess of his mind. “Sophie, we cannot … we do not have time …”
He could not take his future wife in a hackney!
“But I thought … you said …” she began between breathless kisses, “that a lot … can be achieved in just a few minutes.”
He was not fully aware of what happened next. Drunk with desire, they tugged at each other’s clothes, their lips still locked as they moaned with pleasure. He could hear his heart beating loudly in his ears, could feel the blood pumping around his body as they jostled against each other with the motion of the carriage. He wasn’t entirely sure how he had managed to push her breeches to her knees or free himself from his own restrictions but the sight of her beautiful, round derriere as she lowered herself onto him with a slow, seductive wiggle, would be ingrained in his memory for the rest of his life.
Lost in a whirlwind of reckless passion they rode each o
ther to completion. The blissful wave of pleasure had slackened his craving, but only momentarily. On their return home they had rushed upstairs to indulge in a slower, more languorous form of amusement that had lasted well into the evening.
Still, it was not enough for him.
Raising himself up on his elbow, he gazed down in awe at her luscious form sprawled naked in his bed. With a white sheet draped over her body and tangled around her legs, she was the image of a Greek goddess.
Absorbed in the deep rhythmical rise and fall of her chest, he took pleasure in the sound that suggested pure contentment. He could live the rest of his life like this, he thought, touching her, tasting her, to the point he could well and truly lose his mind. She murmured softly as she drifted in and out of sleep and the sound stirred something deep inside him, something he struggled to define.
It seemed hard to believe she was the same girl who had taunted and tormented him to distraction. Now, she was tormenting him in an entirely different way. He reached out and let his fingers trace the line of her outer thigh, trailing up over her hip before laying the palm of his hand on her stomach. The thought of her swollen with his child caused another deep stirring and he was somewhat shocked to find that the idea pleased him. He was going to have to broach the subject of marriage, and soon, as they could not continue in the same reckless manner. Perhaps now, when she was relaxed and sated, would be a good time to discuss the matter.
“Wake up, sleepy,” he whispered, leaning down to place a kiss on her parted lips. “You have not eaten since breakfast and by the rumbles emanating from your stomach, it is not happy about it.”
Roused by his voice, she pushed her arms above her head and stretched. The low humming sound that escaped from her lips caused a familiar tightening in his abdomen, which proceeded to travel to his groin.
“What time is it?” she yawned, fluttering her eyelashes as she became accustomed to her surroundings.