by Debra Glass
Her feet hardly touched the ground as he dragged her into the parlor and stepped in front of the footman to slam the double doors shut.
“Out!” he boomed to a maid who scurried quickly from the room.
Sophia began to shake.
As soon as the maid quitted the room, her father seized her by the shoulders. “Look at your neck! Did he have you?”
Sophia stared. She’d expected them to be angry that she’d been abducted, intent on catching Bad Jack and seeing him hang. She had never dreamed they’d be angry with her.
“I-I’m tired. I would like to go to my room a-and rest,” Sophia stammered.
Her father’s eyes blazed as he gave her a hard shake. “Answer me!”
She couldn’t believe this. She’d been abducted through no fault of her own. She’d practically been given to the highwayman by her fiancé. But still, her face flamed when she thought of all the things she’d willingly done with Bad Jack. “Yes, he had me,” she hissed.
Her mother wailed. “She’s ruined!” she screamed. “Ruined!”
Sophia stumbled as she was pushed onto a settee and then she watched in horror as her father whirled and slapped his wife’s face. “Shut up, woman! If no one else knows of this, then Sophia’s marriage to Wisbech might still be salvaged.”
Sophia trembled violently. She’d never seen her parents argue before. She’d certainly never seen her father strike her mother. She had to get a hold of herself. She couldn’t let this happen—not because of her recklessness.
Not because of Ralph’s greed.
She shot to her feet. “It was no fault of mine I was abducted by a highwayman. Certainly Ralph will not hold me accountable.”
Her father breathed in great heaving gasps through his nostrils, reminding Sophia of an angry bull. “Look at you!” he raged. “You look like a slattern. Go to your room until I can figure out what to do with you.”
At that moment, realization struck Sophia as surely as if her father had slapped her instead of her mother. If she had it to do over, she would go willingly with the highwayman. She’d do it in rebellion. Men controlled the world. They also controlled the fate of the women in their lives. It wasn’t fair.
But what could she do about it? Hopeless, she started toward the door.
“Sophia,” her father called. “Not a word of this. Do you hear me? Not a word. Not even to your maid. You had a riding accident. Do you understand?”
She nodded and twisted the door handle.
Climbing the stairs, she dismally thought about her plight. Her father was right. Ralph might still proceed with the wedding if word didn’t get out that she’d been had—especially in the wake of his own cowardly behavior. But Sophia wondered if he would use it as an excuse to break their engagement. He’d never seemed all that attached to her and it wasn’t as if her title was higher than his. Her dowry, on the other hand…
Would he give up the lands that came with marrying her to save his reputation?
Sophia wished he would. If the dowry were bestowed on her, she could live out her life as a spinster.
She might as well, she thought. Because she would forever compare any other man to Bad Jack. She sighed and in spite of her circumstances, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. The only problem with that was that there was no comparison to Bad Jack.
* * * * *
“A letter for you, Lady Elinor.”
Elinor looked up from petting her pug as the butler offered her a letter on a silver salver. Noting the sickeningly familiar wax sealing stamp, she inhaled and took the envelope. “Thank you, Porter.”
He nodded and disappeared.
Elinor shooed the pug off her lap and thumbed open the seal. Her hands trembled as she withdrew the letter. Her pulse raced. She recognized the handwriting immediately. It was from Jack Badcock.
The bastard.
My darling,
I cannot wait to see you once more. These past two days keep playing and repeating in my thoughts. I must confess, I first thought this to be a simple tryst. But now I know what happened between us bespeaks so much more. I am on tenterhooks until I can hold you in my arms again.
Yours,
Bad Jack
Elinor read and reread the letter. Raging heat rose up her spine and flamed in her face. She leapt to her feet and began to pace. “The hateful bastard! Oh, the nerve of that wretch!” She wadded the letter and started to throw it.
Her thoughts jumbled in her head. She wanted to have her horse saddled so she could ride straight to Amberley and flay him with her riding crop. She wanted to hire a thug to pummel him to death while she watched every bone-crushing blow.
Her heart felt as if it would drum its way out of her chest. The scapegrace had found some inexperienced virgin a better lover than she, Elinor? Impossible! And oh, had he done all the things to his little ingénue that Elinor had wanted him to do to her? She squeezed her eyes shut trying to drive out the images of Jack Badcock cooing words of seduction to someone besides her.
She’d write him back. That was it! Elinor dashed to her secretary and yanked open the drawer. She’d tell that miscreant just what she thought of him. And she’d let him know what a stupid fool he was.
She snorted indelicately. Yes, she’d tell him that he’d bedded the wrong woman and was too big a dolt to know it.
She pulled a sheaf of foolscap out of the drawer and dipped her pen in a vial of ink as she sat.
My dear Bad Jack,
Her hand quaked violently as she tried to write. Her breaths came in short, shallow bursts and then all at once, Elinor thought better of writing a rash letter. If he didn’t know that he’d taken the wrong woman, then she could devise a plan so diabolical that both the lovers would be ruined in society.
Elinor smiled and put her pen back to the paper. This time, she wrote in a calm, florid script.
Chapter Four
No one relaxed until Sophia got her monthly menses three weeks later. The situation with Ralph had been equally as tense.
While Sophia had not been allowed to leave her room, she’d peered out the window to see her father’s lawyer coming and going daily. Sometimes twice in one day. She knew full well that the lawyer’s visits concerned her marriage contract with Ralph.
Still no one had told her anything.
Bored to distraction, she had memorized every delicate curlicue in the pattern of her gold and blue wallpaper, every indention in the gleaming crown molding, the dark shadows on the ceiling where the candle flames had burned too hot. She’d picked at a metallic silver thread in her favorite chair until she was certain it would have to be reupholstered.
Nerves in a state, she was unable to read, to write letters, to do anything but speculate what they might decide for her. She’d paced the floors until the heels of her shoes had marred the gleaming parquet. Infuriated that she had no say in her future, she’d beaten her fists on her dressing table until they were black and blue.
Sophia found the ignominy of it all outrageous. Why did English women accept their lot in life? Why couldn’t they be more like the French women who entertained the educated thinkers of Europe in their grand salons?
But each day faded into darkness and still, nothing had been decided. Nothing had been solved and Sophia felt as if she were adrift on an ocean with no compass, no direction.
In the dark, she found solace in reliving every heavenly moment of her time with Bad Jack. She’d memorized every embrace, the feel of his mouth on hers, the feel of his tongue teasing between her lips to deepen the kiss. His arms had been warm and strong and when he’d crushed her against him, every care she had in the world had withered away.
Her entire being had come alive under the pleasurable punishments he’d meted out to her and afterward, when he’d gathered her into his arms, soothed the sting and made love to her, she’d wanted to weep to release the overwhelming emotions churning inside her.
When she touched herself under the covers, it was Bad Jack’s name
she called in the darkness. It was his face she saw in her dreams.
The sound of a carriage approaching on the pea-gravel drive caught her attention. She darted to the window, hoping beyond hope it was the coach that had brought her home come to take her away again—to take her to Jack.
She’d fantasized that he was really a prince in disguise and would one day return to rescue her. But she knew better. That was only a child’s dream—one she should quash before it threatened to destroy any future hope of happiness.
Her heart sank when she saw it was only her father’s lawyer. She sighed and plopped onto a settee. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared down at the robin’s egg blue bows decorating her pumps.
When were they ever going to let her out of this…this prison?
Just as she stood to resume pacing, her bedroom door flew open and her mother ran in waving a paper excitedly. “The wedding is still on!” her mother cried.
Sophia knew she should be happy that Ralph hadn’t cast her aside. She wasn’t.
“And not only that,” her mother blabbered on. “We’ve all been invited to a ball.”
Sophia sulked. “I don’t feel like going to a ball.”
Her mother sighed in exasperation. “You must. It is your duty to appear on Lord Wisbech’s arm and to dispel any rumors that may have circulated about you.”
Sophia stared.
“And wear a dress that fits you well in the…the middle. We want no speculation that you might be with child.”
Sophia gasped. “So, I’m to be paraded about as if nothing ever happened?” Had it really happened or were those precious hours with the highwayman naught but a dream?
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Your wedding is one week away. Your father, God save him, has moved heaven and earth to secure the contracts with the Duke of Wisbech. You will not dishonor our family again.”
“Is that all I’m good for? Connections? Contracts?” Sophia asked.
Her mother took a threatening step closer. “The duke could do better than you,” she said vehemently.
A thousand retorts leapt to Sophia’s mind, none of which she uttered.
“It would serve you well to learn discretion,” her mother said. “And appreciation for your station in life.”
Sophia crossed her arms over her chest. She did sound like a petulant child but the humiliation of being herded into marriage with a man she did not respect made her so.
“Set aside your callowness. The ball is tomorrow night.”
* * * * *
“His Grace, the Duke of Wisbech and the honorable Sophia Astley!”
Sophia swallowed thickly as she forced a smile and accompanied her fiancé into the grand ballroom, where a long line of dancers moved through the intricate steps of a quadrille.
The room was large enough to support a small orchestra and the rich sound of strings and horns vibrated in Sophia’s chest.
Ralph’s country home was even larger and more well-appointed than this one but Sophia was equally impressed in the grandeur of this one. Pastel frescoes decorated the high, arched ceiling. Beeswax candles glimmered in gilt chandeliers. The ballroom floor was so highly polished it mirrored the dancers.
Smartly dressed servants in red coats and impeccably powered wigs moved gracefully through the throng of guests.
“Who, again, is honoring us tonight?” Sophia whispered.
“Lord and Lady Huntingdon,” Ralph said impatiently. “I’ve told you that twice already.”
Sophia inhaled. Her mother had been right about speculation. As soon as they had been announced, all gazes riveted immediately to her tightly corseted waistline. She glanced at Ralph. His face grew redder by the second. He was embarrassed to be seen with her.
He’d been cool to her in the coach on the way here and had even gone so far as to tell her the only reason he was bringing her was to quiet the gossipers. Sophia wanted to shrink away from the prying eyes and from Ralph’s clammy hand over hers.
“Why ever would Lord Huntingdon want to honor us?” Sophia inquired, wanting to do or say anything to dispel the awful tension.
“They came along after you were…after our recent…unpleasantness. I could hardly turn down their offer to restore your soiled reputation,” he retorted under his breath.
Sophia eyed the striking woman standing next to a stodgy old man standing at the head of the receiving line. Rather than wearing the fashionable powdered wig, she wore her black hair coiffed high and adorned with a false white bird. The décolletage of her white dress plunged scandalously low. Her rouged lips stretched into a smug smile that sent a shiver racing up Sophia’s spine.
Because Ralph’s Aunt Millicent had tried to engage her in a frustrating and very one-sided conversation, she’d been unable to barely garner a glimpse of Lady Huntingdon when their carriage had been broken down on Hounslow Road.
And then comprehension struck. Jack had spoken to her as if knew her, as if their meeting had been arranged. He’d been expecting someone else. Sophia faltered. Dread welled. Lady Huntingdon?
There was most definitely a resemblance. An eerie resemblance. But…
Sophia hesitated.
“Come along,” Ralph muttered through clenched teeth.
“Lord John Badcock, the Right Honorable Earl of Stafford!” the announcer’s voice resounded over the din of conversation and music.
Sophia felt the overwhelming compulsion to look behind her. There was something oddly familiar about the name John Badcock. Perhaps it was her sudden trepidation. Perhaps she’d heard of him or met him at one of the parties last season.
“Welcome!” Lady Huntingdon greeted, stifling any opportunity Sophia would have to look at the guest following them into the ballroom.
She felt as if she were being inspected as Lady Huntingdon’s gaze skimmed down and back up again. There was something in the woman’s eyes Sophia couldn’t identify. Something she didn’t like.
“Your Grace,” Lady Huntingdon said, deferring to Ralph. “It is so good to see you again. And this time under such better circumstances.”
Ralph didn’t miss the opportunity to elegantly change the subject. “What a lovely home you have, Lady Huntingdon.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Lady Huntingdon’s eyes kept darting past them and it was all Sophia could do to keep from turning around.
“And this is your darling fiancée,” Lady Huntingdon said, turning her attention back to Sophia. “Sophia, is it?”
Sophia dipped into a slight curtsey. Every nerve in her body grew taut with an expectation she couldn’t figure out. “Yes,” she said, noticing that her voice quavered. “Thank you, Lady Huntingdon.”
Lady Huntingdon’s lips twisted into a sneering smile. “Dear, have you met Lord Stafford?”
Donning her most gracious smile, Sophia turned, anxious to see who was behind her.
Her heart skipped a beat. Rendered immobile, she stared.
Bad Jack?
The highwayman?
Lord Stafford?
Sophia feared she might swoon.
Stafford’s—Jack’s—eyes widened but only for a split second before his gaze darted quickly to Lady Huntingdon and then back again.
“Lord Stafford,” Lady Huntingdon greeted him gleefully. “It’s so delightful to see you again. It’s been nearly a year, hasn’t it? Meet Lord Wisbech and his fiancée, Miss Sophia Astley.”
Sophia shook. Heat crept into her cheeks and the back of her neck. She’d resigned herself to the fact that she would never see him again but, dear Lord, here he stood, looking, impossibly, more handsome than she remembered.
Every touch, every kiss, every taboo deed washed back over her in warm remembrance as she drank in the sight of his loosely queued dark hair, that sensual set of his mouth, his broad shoulders delineated by the perfect cut of his frock coat, and lower—oh, she dared not look in that direction lest she swoon.
Her heartbeat pounded with relentless force in her ears.
<
br /> Lord Stafford nodded his head curtly. A mask descended over his features but Sophia did not miss the black look he gave their hostess.
Ralph made small talk while Sophia tried to keep from fainting. Her knees threatened to give way at any moment. The meal she’d eaten right before dressing churned in her stomach. Her mind ran rampant and she could not control the direction of her thoughts.
Memories of the two torrid days, naked in his arms, surged along with a riot of emotions that made her want to scream and run from the room.
Excitement reigned. He was here! He was real after all. And infinitely more gorgeous than she remembered. Taller even. His lips—she leaned forward ever so slightly as if magnetically drawn to him. To kiss him once more…
And then, bleakly, she thought, he’d never been a highwayman at all. He’d lied to her. He’d abducted her and had taken advantage of her.
Her fantasies crumbled into dust at her feet as common sense rallied.
He’d lied. He’d lied.
Sophia clenched her fists at her sides. Her gaze flicked to Ralph then back to Lady Huntingdon. Could everyone see how badly she trembled? Was her face flaming red?
Did he know what effect he had on her?
“Sophia, you’re not looking well,” Lady Huntingdon warbled.
“I-I…” she stammered.
“Perhaps you should get the lady some refreshment,” Lord Stafford said, his gaze barely grazing hers.
That voice. She’d dreamed of it. She’d fantasized about hearing the black velvet sound of it whispering words of lust, of love in her ear. His eyes. Sophia blinked. She had to look away. She had to get out of this man’s presence before she gave herself away.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Ralph said with a nod as he half-dragged Sophia across the ballroom toward the refreshment table.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back.
But she did.
It was a mistake.
Lord Stafford laughed and smiled at Lord and Lady Huntingdon as if he had not a care in creation. It was as if she, Sophia, had never intruded into his life, as if he didn’t recognize her—as if she’d never experienced the most intimate moments of her life naked in his arms.