by Sara Bennett
Her blue eyes lit up. “I remember my father saying he wrote a letter,” she acceded. “He said he had written to Sir Arbuthnot, but although the letter was addressed to him it was actually to you. He said if you were the man I thought you were then his letter would help you to find me.”
“I did find you.”
“You found me?” her voice wavered.
“I saw you with a man. I thought he must be your husband. There was a baby. You looked so happy that I … I walked away.”
She stared at him, and he could see her processing what he had said. When she spoke at last her voice was flat, as if he had gravely disappointed her. “I’m not married. I was never married. It was probably one of Grandma’s neighbours you saw. I was teaching his daughter while she was at home and unwell.”
Harry let the truth sink in, because it was the truth. He believed her. Without his turbulent emotions causing him to doubt her he could see what he should have seen all along. Sophy was not the one at fault here. His father had sent him off to Essex and once he was out of the way, he had dealt with Sophy’s family in a manner he hoped would preclude Harry wanting anything more to do with them. It hadn’t worked. He’d searched for Sophy, and only gave up when he thought he saw with his own eyes what his father had been drumming into his head as the truth for over a year.
“Sophy.”
“I don’t think we have any more to discuss.”
“Don’t say that.”
He was full of regret. Her big blue eyes looked wounded and he felt his heart ache. He felt tender and hungry, both at the same time. The hunger won, and he ducked his head and pressed his lips to hers.
She tasted like heaven. He shifted to get better access, his tongue sliding over her skin before gently closing his teeth on her. Her breath caught. “Sophy,” he murmured, “I missed you so much. I’ve had a hole in my heart. All this time … all this time …”
Just for a moment she melted in his arms and he felt her respond, her mouth opening to his, her hands clutching at his jacket to hold him close. His head swam, his heart pounded, his body filled with urgent need.
And then she pulled back, and said in a shaky but determined voice, “No, Harry. You are engaged.”
She gave him a hard shove and he took a step back. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wild, but there was resolution in her expression. “It’s too late for us,” she reminded him, her voice husky. “You are going to marry Lady Evelyn.”
He shook his head. “I want you,” he said, and knew he sounded like a child denied a favourite toy.
Her back straightened. “I’m sorry.”
“Sophy.” He reached for her again. “I ache for you. Every night I dream of you. Can’t we …?” He licked his lips. Just for a moment he fought against his need for her, reminding himself he didn’t want to be like his father. He had never wanted that.
She watched him and he had the feeling she knew what he was struggling not to say. That she saw right through to the heart of him, where the man he wanted to be fought with the man he feared he would become. “Will you be … will you be with me?”
“Will I be your mistress?” This time her shove was harder. She ducked beneath his arm, slipping away, and then rushing across the room. He caught up with her at the door.
“Sophy!” he lowered his voice with difficulty. “Can’t we talk, at least? There must be some way …”
Her hand was on the door handle, her shoulders hunched, but she looked at him over her shoulder. He saw the desolation in her eyes.
“No, there isn’t,” she told him in a hard little voice. “The Harry I loved would never have said such a thing to me. The Harry I loved was a much better man than that. You want something you cannot have, Harry. We have nothing more to say.”
And she was gone.
SOPHY
Sophy returned to her seat and sat down. She must have looked more or less normal because James did not make any comment, only sending her a vague smile before turning back to the music. The soloist had been replaced by a harpist.
She pretended to listen to the gentle sounds, tried to let them heal her, but all the time she felt sick to her stomach. Harry had kissed her and held her, and for a moment he had been Harry. For a moment she had thought everything could be the same as it was. And then he had shown his true colours and spoilt even those brief moments of hope.
After her husband died Susan had become Sir Geoffrey’s mistress. Sophy could not deny that in those desperate circumstances things had worked out well for her grandmother. Her father may not have liked the scandal attached to the family, but Sophy could see both sides.
But for Harry to ask such a thing of her, when all their lives he had promised to make her his wife?
She could remember her father warning her about him, that she was not the sort of girl Sir Arbuthnot would accept and that eventually Harry would come around to his way of thinking. Sophy Harcourt, he had said, was not wife material. And yet Harry had promised and she had believed. Before he died, she had persuaded her father that her version of Harry was the true one. He had sent the ring and the letter, and Harry had come to find her, just as he’d hoped. And then he had walked away without a word because he didn’t believe in her enough to walk up to her and ask the right questions.
If their roles were reversed she would never have walked away. Would she? She allowed herself to imagine seeing Harry with a woman holding a baby, in a situation that looked cosily domestic. Add to that a father who whispered poison in her ear for months at a time, so that despite her best intentions she began to believe him, fight though she might against it.
She refused to forgive him, but grudgingly she allowed that Harry walking away made some sense in those circumstances. As for what he had said to her in the library just now. That was a different matter.
His mistress …
It was the worst kind of insult she could imagine.
She wished she could go home but it seemed important to continue to play the part she had chosen for herself. If Harry was watching she didn’t want him to see how wounded she was, how once again he had fired his arrow with such unerring accuracy.
She looked across the aisle that separated the seats and noticed that Lady Evelyn was watching her. Had she seen Harry follow her into the library? Was she jealous? Sophy could not read her expression, only that some powerful emotion was rippling over that calm and beautiful face.
“I believe there is supper after this,” James whispered close to her ear. His warm breath stirred her hair and she met his blue eyes and nodded. He smiled again and brushed her hand with his, fingers warm and gentle.
Sophy looked up again. Lady Evelyn was still watching and this time it was possible for Sophy to read the other woman’s expression.
Evelyn was sick with jealousy, and Sophy knew just how she felt.
Chapter 23
HARRY
He was a fool. For a man who had tried all his life to be better, to do what was right, to aspire to the highest principals, he wasn’t much better than Digby.
It had taken him no time at all to come to his conclusion. As soon as the door to Monkstead’s library closed, he knew. He had offered Sophy a carte blanche and she had left him. Of course she had. He wasn’t just a fool, he was a desperate fool. And he had to ask himself if this was how his father had first felt when he wanted a woman and already had a wife. Did that choice come down to something as simple as selfish greed?
Harry had wanted to be a good man, completely unlike his father, and instead he had turned into him.
Supper was lavish but he had no appetite. Adam made polite conversation with him, but he recognised the puzzled light in his brother’s eyes. Adam nodded discreetly toward the other end of the room.
Harry was too busy feeling sorry for himself to look. Sophy was right, it was too late. He had left things too late and he had only himself to blame. He needed to pull himself together and face his future. He needed to wash the bitter taste of his poor dec
isions out of his mouth with the brandy waiting for him in his study. Perhaps after that he would be able to see his way forward again instead of gazing back.
Adam sighed beside him. “Harry, your fiancé and her brother are arguing,” he said. “Something is wrong.”
This time Harry followed the direction of Adam’s nod and paid attention.
Evelyn and Oscar stood close together, his head bent over hers, dominating the conversation while she stared at the floor and said nothing. Her cheeks were flushed and Oscar had hold of her wrist, keeping her prisoner even though she was not attempting to escape.
The fog inside his head cleared. Adam was right, something was wrong.
Evelyn lifted her head and Harry saw that while her face might be a blank wall, her eyes were full of emotion. He started forward, Adam following behind. Oscar was still speaking when they reached the couple. There was no mistaking what sort of conversation this was.
“…Unacceptable behaviour. After what happened before … willing to jeopardise your reputation again for the same idiocy? Learn to control yourself, Evelyn. If you can’t then at least wait until after you are married and have provided Baillieu with an heir!”
“Evelyn?”
Evelyn started and Oscar returned his regard without bothering to hide his fury. Harry’s gaze dropped to Evelyn’s wrist and Oscar reluctantly released her. She began to rub it and Harry’s eyes narrowed.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, knowing full well it wasn’t. What he really wanted to do was pin Oscar against the wall and demand answers, but this wasn’t the time or place, and Evelyn would not thank him for making her the centre of a scene.
She had already plastered a fake smile on her face. “Of course,” she said, her voice lifting. “My brother was just telling me how much he enjoyed the music. Weren’t you, Oscar?”
Oscar didn’t bother to answer her, nodding instead at Harry and Adam, and brushing past them on his way to the supper table. There was a beat of silence and Harry frowned.
“What was he saying?” he asked quietly.
Evelyn refused now to meet his eyes. “Oscar is always worrying about something,” she said, but her lips wobbled despite her airy tone.
“I don’t want to speak ill of your brother, but that man is a bully,” Harry said.
Her eyes met his and he saw fear and doubt in them, then relief. “Yes,” she whispered. “He is.”
“When we are married …” he began. He meant to tell her that once they were wed she would be free of Oscar’s grip, but the words stuck in his throat. When he was married then Sophy would be truly lost to him.
“Can we go home?” she asked when he didn’t finish his thought. She reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing it urgently. “I want to go home, Harry.”
“Of course,” he said. “We’ll go now.”
“I’ll fetch my cloak,” she said with relief and moved away.
Once they were alone, Adam tapped him on the shoulder. “What the hell …?” he muttered.
“Harry, I need to tell you something. When the music was playing, Evelyn was staring at someone. James Abbott.”
Harry frowned at him. “Is there a point to this?” he asked irritably.
“She wasn’t just looking at James, they were looking at each other, Harry, and it wasn’t the sort of look you give a friend or an acquaintance. It was … embarrassingly intimate, and Oscar saw them. That was what the fight was about just now.”
“What do you mean ‘embarrassingly intimate’?” he asked, ignoring the rest.
“The sort of look you give to someone you want to take to bed and keep there for a month, Harry,” his brother said dryly. “That lovesick dog look you have when you’re following Sophy around.”
Harry stared back at him.
“You need to find out what’s going on with Evelyn and James,” Adam said sternly. “I heard it was all over between them, but that’s not what it looked like to me. Have it out with her, make sure that nine months after the wedding she doesn’t present you with an heir that looks like Abbott. I don’t think the title of cuckold would suit you.”
Harry clenched his fists and his brother leaned in closer. “Pull yourself together,” he hissed. “I’m tired of worrying about you. You make me wish I was back fighting the French.”
Harry went to find Evelyn and escort her to the coach. Oscar was already there, glowering at them from the dim interior. Under these circumstances there would be no way they could have a private conversation but he could wait. There was much to think about and he needed to consider his words carefully. Adam was right. If Evelyn was in some sort of bother it was up to him to put aside his own troubles and fix it.
Harry arranged to collect her in the morning for their usual ride in Hyde Park, and then said his farewells. “This wedding can’t come soon enough for me,” Oscar muttered.
“Me neither,” Evelyn added with a brightness in her voice that was manufactured. She smiled as Harry bent to press his lips to her gloved hand. “Thank you, Harry,” she said with soft gratitude, and he suspected that she meant it.
Once he was home, he went into the study and poured himself a brandy. It had always been his drink of choice, but right now it brought little comfort. He was halfway through the second glass when he heard voices, his brother and a woman’s. The door opened so suddenly that he stood up in surprise.
Adam leaned an arm against the door jamb and grinned. “Ah, brother, there you are,” he said. There was a strange glitter in his eyes. “I have a gift for you. Something that will help you to put your troubles behind you, for tonight at least.”
A woman brushed by him and surveyed the room. Then she tossed her dark hair and walked toward him. Despite looking as if she was more used to the streets around Covent Garden than a gentleman’s town house, she walked with confidence. Before he could say a word she had reached him and leaned in, resting a hand against his chest.
Her eyes were grey and her red mouth curved into a wide, seductive smile. “Adam says you need a woman for the night,” she said, her voice far more well-bred than he had expected. “I’m happy to oblige.”
Harry took her hand from him and held it a moment. There was something about her manner that precluded him being rude, so he squeezed it gently, then let her go.
“I appreciate the sentiment,” he said, “but I will deal with my own troubles.”
She smiled a moment longer then sauntered back to Adam. A glance passed between them and he followed her out. A moment later the front door closed and Adam returned, alone.
If Harry was surprised that his brother did not take advantage of the woman then he was more surprised by the words that came out of his mouth.
“This thing with Sophy, you need to resolve it, Harry.”
“And that was your way of resolving it?” he asked bitterly.
“No, that was my way of proving a point. You’re not our father. Do you think he would have passed up an opportunity like that?”
Harry glared.
“You need a wife you can adore,” Adam went on. “You adore Sophy. Sort it out, Harry.”
Harry waited till the door closed and then sat back down again. Then he laid his head in his hands and swore.
SOPHY
Mockingbird Square was charming by night, with the gas lamps flaring and the trees in the middle rustling in the breeze. Sophy took a deep breath and told herself how fortunate she was. It didn’t help. She glanced sideways at James and found him quiet too.
They had sent Mrs Harding and her daughters off in their coach and James was taking Sophy home in his conveyance. It seemed he was such a well-known fixture at her side now that this was acceptable, to Mrs Harding anyway.
Sophy had been remembering the look on Evelyn’s face, mainly because she didn’t want to remember what had passed between Harry and herself.
“You still love Evelyn.”
The carriage came toward them across the cobbles and James helped her up. Whe
n they were seated he turned toward her. “It isn’t that simple,” he said. “You know that, Sophy. In our world, to love someone is not the beginning and ending of the story, there are other considerations. Obligations. I had my chance with Evelyn and now it is gone.”
She almost told him she was sure Evelyn loved him too, but there seemed no point. What could he do? Evelyn was engaged to Harry. James was right, love was not the only consideration when it came to marriage. She had been naïve to think Harry would ever be her husband. It had been a fairy tale, the sort of thing one read to children, but it had never been real.
As a girl she had been a romantic, lost in her own head. She’d finally grown up and she had learned how the world truly worked. The truth hurt. It hurt a great deal.
“This is why we are so well matched,” James went on in a cheerier voice. “We both have broken hearts.”
“It doesn’t sound like a very happy combination,” Sophy retorted.
“No,” he agreed and reached to take her hand.
They were silent again. Sophy tried to think of something more to say but it seemed she had run out of idle chit chat. She turned to the window and stared at the passing scenery. Soon they would cross the Thames and she would be home in Lambeth, answering her grandmother’s myriad questions, making light of everything. Would she tell her about Harry? Although it would be nice to be held and comforted, she wasn’t sure she could bear it just yet. In a day or two, perhaps, when the sting had worn off. When she could at least pretend she was over it.
Will you be my mistress?
The really disappointing thing about Harry’s words was that she had wanted to yes. Agree to living in a place provided by him, in Oxford perhaps, close to Pendleton, so that he could visit her often. Climb into her bed, into her body, and slake his lust, before riding off home again to his wife. She had wanted to say yes, knowing this was the only way she could have him, the only way they could ever be together.
Despite knowing such a thing would eventually destroy them both.