Courting Miss Vallois (2 page)

‘Mr Rastley?'

‘Him what owns the place. But he had to go off to see to his dying sister and there's no reservation in your name or the toff's.' The man closed the book. ‘I can give you a blanket and you can sleep in the stable if you like—'

‘Sleep in the stable? Good God, man, what kind of establishment are you running here?'

The remark was uttered by a tall, well-dressed man who came to stand beside her. He was obviously a gentleman. A shiny black beaver sat atop golden curls and a diamond pin was tucked securely into the folds of an elaborately tied cravat. Unlike the first gentleman who'd come to her aid, there wasn't a speck of dust on his boots, and the heavy gold rings on his fingers indicated a degree of wealth most often associated with the aristocracy. But while it was clear he intended to intervene on her behalf, Sophie knew better than to encourage the acquaintance. For all his fine appearance, his expression was cold, his mouth possessed of a cynical twist, his eyes hooded like those of a cat eyeing the helpless bird it intended having for dinner.

‘Thank you, sir, but I have no doubt the situation can be resolved to the satisfaction of all concerned,' she told him. ‘There has obviously been some confusion over the reservations.'

‘Indeed. Confusion that has left you without a comfortable bed in which to spend the night.' The man flicked a contemptuous glance at the innkeeper. ‘And
to cause so beautiful a lady such a degree of inconvenience is an unconscionable crime.'

The old man blanched. ‘Begging your pardon, Mr Oberon, but we don't have any rooms—'

‘So you said,' the gentleman drawled. ‘However, you cannot expect this young woman to spend the night alone and unprotected.' He turned to her and, as he leaned his elbow on the bar, Sophie saw the expression in his eyes change. ‘Who knows what manner of harm might befall her? Better you spend the night with me, my dear, than take your chances elsewhere.'

The ploy was so obvious that Sophie almost laughed. ‘Fortunately, I am neither alone nor unprotected. As soon as my brother returns, we will settle this matter to the satisfaction of all involved.'

‘Your
brother?
'

‘Yes. He ran outside after the first shot was fired…' Sophie faltered, painfully reminded of what had taken place only moments ago. She had no way of knowing if Antoine was all right because she had no way of knowing what manner of contretemps he had stumbled into. Innocent bystanders often came to harm when force was used to settle differences between men. But barely had the thought crossed her mind than it was laid to rest—and by the very man who had prevented her from going to Antoine's side in the first place.

‘You will be glad to know that all is well,
madame
,' the gentleman said. ‘The matter is settled and the injured man will recover, thanks to the timely intervention of your husband.'

‘Her husband?'
Mr Oberon turned to regard Sophie with an expression of reproach. ‘I thought you said you were travelling with your brother?'

‘I am. This gentleman mistakenly
assumed
he was my husband.'

‘Perhaps because you made no attempt to correct me,' the first man said.

‘How could I?' Sophie fired back. ‘You ran outside before I had a chance to say anything.'

‘By the by, Silverton,' Mr Oberon cut in carelessly, ‘what
was
going on outside?'

‘An argument, over a lady,' said the man so addressed, his slight hesitation enough to cast doubt as to the lady's respectability. ‘An insult was tendered, an apology demanded, and when the offending gentleman refused to give it, the lady's companion took out a whip and struck the man across the face. The first gentleman responded by shooting the second in the leg. A nasty wound, but not life threatening, thanks to the prompt attention of this young lady's brother, whom I assume to be a doctor?'

‘He is studying to become one,' Sophie was stung into replying. ‘And I would
not
have been in the way. I often help my brother in such situations.'

‘But I wasn't to know that, was I?' Mr Silverton said. ‘I only heard him ask you to stay where you were. And detecting the note of concern in his voice, I deigned to intervene. Perhaps I should have left well enough alone and let you rush headlong into the fray.'

The reprimand was faint but unmistakable—enough to inspire guilt, but not harsh enough to wound. Sophie was still considering her reply when the door opened and Antoine walked in, his face grim, the front of his jacket spattered with blood. ‘Antoine! Are you all right?'

‘Yes, which is more than I can say for the fellow
outside.' He glanced at the two men standing beside her and, to Sophie's surprise, offered his hand to her adversary. ‘I am in your debt,
monsieur
. Without your help in holding the man down, I doubt I would have been able to staunch the flow of blood.
Merci beaucoup.
'

Mr Silverton's hesitation was so brief as to be almost imperceptible, but Sophie noticed. She watched him take Antoine's hand, shake it briefly, then release it almost immediately. ‘I'm sure you would have managed.'

‘Yes, I'm sure he would.' Mr Oberon's mouth pulled into a thin line. ‘The French are nothing if not resourceful when it comes to dealing with matters of life and death.'

His words fell into a strained silence and Sophie wondered at the look that passed between the two Englishmen. But, more concerned with her own plight, she turned to her brother and said, ‘It seems we must look for alternate accommodations, Antoine. Rooms have not been reserved for us and the inn is full.'

His surprise was as great as her own. ‘Did you not show the man the letter?'

‘There wasn't any point. He said there were no rooms available.'

‘Then you will take mine,' Mr Silverton said at once. ‘It is not large, but it has two beds and is relatively quiet. I shall make myself comfortable in the bar.'

‘Oh, no,' Sophie said quickly. ‘We couldn't possibly—'

‘Thank you, Mr Silverton,' Antoine cut in. ‘My sister has had a long day and is anxious to look her best on the morrow. We are most grateful for your offer.'

Sophie's mouth dropped open. They were
grateful
for his offer? Since when had they resorted to accepting help from strangers? Especially from a man who hadn't even wanted to shake her brother's hand!

‘Ce n'est pas une bonne idée, Antoine,'
she whispered urgently.
‘Nous serons mieux lotis dans la grange avec les chevaux!'

It was an indication of how distraught Sophie was that she allowed herself to fall back into French. Before leaving Paris, she and Antoine had agreed to speak English whenever they found themselves in the company of others. And while sleeping in the barn with the horses was not what she
wished
to do, it was far preferable to putting herself in a position of debt to this man. She had learned that offers of kindness always came with terms—and that payment was never negotiable.

Unfortunately, Mr Silverton obviously thought it a
fait accompli.
‘The room is at the top of the stairs, second on the left. If you will give me a moment, I shall remove my things and then return to give you the key. Oberon, may I store my valise in your room?'

‘If you must, but don't think to spend the night.
I
have only the one bed and I certainly don't intend sharing it with you.'

Mr Silverton's voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘Rest assured, the thought never entered my mind. I'll see you at dinner.'

‘Fine. All this high drama has left me with an appetite. In fact…' Mr Oberon glanced at Sophie, his gaze skimming over her with a thoroughness she found insulting. ‘Perhaps you would care to join us,
mademoiselle
? The innkeeper has assured us of a decent meal in his private dining room and I can assure you,
it will be far preferable to sitting cheek to jowl with the riff-raff out here.'

Resisting the urge to tell him the riff-raff would be
in
the private dining room, Sophie said, ‘Thank you, but, no. My brother and I will be fine out here.'

‘Very well. Then I bid you a good evening. And may I say that it has been…a pleasure.'

His eyes said everything his words did not and as he turned and walked away Sophie felt her face burn with humiliation. If such was a display of upper-crust English manners—

‘You must forgive Oberon's lack of tact,' Mr Silverton said drily. ‘He tends to speak before he thinks.'

‘You owe us no apology, sir,' Antoine replied stiffly. ‘Your conduct more than made up for his.'

Mr Silverton bowed. ‘I would not wish you to think English chivalry dead.' His glance rested on Sophie for the briefest of moments before he touched the brim of his beaver and walked towards the narrow staircase.

Sophie followed him with her eyes, not at all pleased with the events of the past half-hour. ‘You should not have accepted his offer, Antoine. We know nothing about him.'

‘Nevertheless, I wasn't about to see you spend your first night in England sleeping in a barn.'

‘Better that than finding ourselves beholden to a man who clearly doesn't like us.'

‘I don't care if he likes us,' Antoine said. ‘All that matters is that you have a proper bed in which to sleep and hot water in which to bathe. Lord Longworth wasn't able to provide that for you so I wasn't about to turn Mr Silverton down when he did. Besides, I doubt the loss of one night's sleep is going to trouble him unduly.'

Of course it wasn't. Mr Silverton was clearly a man of means, Sophie told herself. If he slept poorly in the bar tonight, he would simply go home and sleep it off tomorrow, no doubt in the comfort of a very fine house with his wife and servants to attend him. He certainly wouldn't be thinking about her. She was just one more person he'd met along the way.

And that's all he was to her.
One more anonymous face in the crowd. She knew nothing about his life, so what did it matter if he thought her ill mannered for having refused his offer of help? Thanks to him, she would be clean and well rested when she arrived in London for her reunion with Nicholas tomorrow. Surely that was more important than worrying about what kind of impression she'd made on a man she was never going to see again.

‘S
o, who do you think she was?' Montague Oberon enquired between bites of underdone potato and over-cooked beef.

Robert Silverton didn't look up from his plate of steak-and-kidney pie, hoping his apparent preoccupation with his meal would discourage Oberon from continuing to talk about her. ‘Why would you not think she was his sister?'

‘Because you heard what he said about it being important she look her best tomorrow.'

‘Perhaps she is meeting with a prospective employer. Or a long-lost relation.'

‘Or her new protector. You know what they say about French women.'

‘I know what
you
say about French women,” Robert said, reaching for the salt cellar. “But I fear they are not all whores, strumpets or ballet dancers.'

‘Pity.' Oberon took a piece of bread, his brow furrowing. ‘I suppose she could have been his mistress.
There seemed to be a deal of affection between them, and God knows, I've never looked at
my
sister that way.'

‘Why would you? You've told me countless times that you despise Elaine.'

‘Of course. You would too if she were
your
sister. But I've never seen you look at Jane that way and the two of you are very close.'

‘You're imagining things.' Finishing his meal, Robert picked up his glass. ‘There were marked similarities in their appearance. The slenderness of the nose, the firm line of the jaw, the shape of the eyes…'
The seductive curve of the lady's mouth. Oh, yes, he'd noticed that. And he'd stared at it far too many times during their brief conversation…
‘I have no doubt they were related. But I could ask the gentleman on your behalf and leave you to the consequences.'

The viscount's son nearly choked. ‘And find myself on the other end of a Frenchie's blade? No, thank you. I haven't your skill with the foil.'

‘You could if you showed more inclination to learn.'

‘I've little inclination to do anything that involves hard work or strenuous exercise,' Oberon said, pausing to flick a remnant of charred crust from the bread. ‘Still, I'd give a year's allowance to have her in my bed for one night.'

‘It seems to me your money would be better spent on the pursuit of a respectable bride,' Robert said, sitting back in his chair. ‘Was that not a requirement of your continuing to receive the exceedingly generous allowance your father doles out to you twice a year?'

‘Damned if it wasn't,” Oberon muttered. ‘The old codger knows me too well. I cannot afford to live without the allowance, so I am forced to legshackle myself
to some simpering heiress or some horse-faced widow long past her prime in order to assure its continuation.'

Robert smiled, aware that even under the most dire of circumstances, Oberon would never settle for anything less than a diamond of the first water. ‘I'm sure such desperate measures will not be called for. No doubt you'll find at least one young lady amongst this year's crop of blushing débutantes to tempt you.'

‘Tempt
us,
don't you mean?'

‘No. I've had my brush with marriage, thank you,' Robert said. ‘My only goal is to settle my sister in marriage and I intend to devote all of my energies to that.'

Oberon frowned. ‘You may have a difficult task there, Silver. Jane's a delightful girl, but there is her affliction to consider.'

‘I wouldn't call a misshapen foot an affliction, and I certainly don't consider it an impediment to her making a good marriage.'

‘Of course not. You're her brother and honour bound to defend her. But what man would not wish his wife to be the most beautiful woman of his acquaintance?'

Robert raised his glass and studied his companion over the rim. The remark came as no surprise. It was exactly what he expected from a man who valued physical perfection above all and saw anything less as flawed. ‘Jane
is
an acknowledged beauty.'

‘But she
limps
, Silver. She cannot walk without the use of a cane and is hard pressed even to ride as well as other young ladies her age.'

‘But she rides nevertheless.'

‘Only when in the country where no one can see her. Be reasonable, old man. Jane's chances of making a good match in London are about as remote as ours of
finding a man of wit and intelligence amongst the rabble out there,' Oberon said bluntly. ‘Perhaps if you left her in the country, introduced her to the local clergyman—'

‘Jane's chances of making a good match in London are no better or worse than any one else's,' Robert said mildly. ‘Love enables one to overlook what others see as faults.'

‘Blinds one to them, you mean. It sets up ridiculous expectations and does nothing more than pave the way for marital strife. I don't expect the woman I marry to love me, any more than I expect to love her.'

‘Then what do you expect?'

‘Loyalty, obedience and good breeding skills. I expect her to sit at my table and entertain my guests, manage my households to make sure the servants don't rob us blind and provide me with an heir at the earliest opportunity so I can go off and indulge my other interests.'

‘Those being?'

‘To find myself in bed with a different woman every night.'

Robert snorted. ‘If that's all you require, you may as well marry your housekeeper and spend your nights at a brothel.'

‘And pay for the pleasure of bedding a woman? I'd rather eat bad oysters for breakfast,' Oberon said. ‘I could give you the names of a
dozen
young ladies happy to warm my bed for nothing more than the pleasure they receive in return.'

‘Then why not marry one of them?'

‘Because I want a flower of rare perfection. A woman as virginal as Hestia, as amusing as Thalia, as—'

‘As exquisite as Aphrodite?'

‘That would be my first choice, though if she is not, I shall simply snuff the candles and do the deed as quickly as possible.' Oberon shrugged. ‘London is full of tempting young chits only too happy to do what a man likes. Take that stunning young woman we just met. I'd wager even
you
wouldn't mind a tumble with her, despite your stated aversion to all things French.'

‘That has nothing to do with it,' Robert said, aware that it wasn't entirely true, but wishing he'd never told Oberon of his antipathy. ‘As a result of what happened between Lady Mary Kelsey and myself, I have no intention of involving myself with
any
woman, whether she be well born or otherwise.'

‘Ah, yes, the broken engagement. Pity about that,' Oberon reflected. ‘Unlike you, Lady Mary is not keeping quiet about her feelings. Last week she called you a heartless bastard for breaking things off without a word of explanation.'

‘Trust me, it is better I do not vouchsafe the reasons,' Robert murmured.

‘Be that as it may, she is threatening to sue you for breach of promise and society has taken her side. You have been cast out, my friend. Abandoned. Thrown to the murderous hordes. Which means you may as well find yourself a nice little mistress to keep you warm at night—in fact, what say you to a little wager? Whoever establishes the most beautiful woman in London as his mistress before the end of the Season shall be declared the winner.'

‘I'd say that apart from it being a totally iniquitous undertaking, it makes absolutely no sense. Have you any idea how many beautiful women there are in London?'

‘Ah, but I said the
most
beautiful.'

‘By whose standards? Jane is considered a beauty, yet you are offended by her handicap and label her unattractive as a result.'

The viscount's son had the decency to blush. ‘I did not say she offended me—'

‘Not in so many words, but we both know that is what you meant.'

‘Then we shall let a panel of our peers make the decision. And the stakes of the wager will show that he who loses must give the other that which he desires most. I'm willing to put up my stallion,' Oberon said, stabbing the last piece of beef with his fork. ‘I recall you once saying that were I to offer you a chance to buy him, you'd take it without second thought. Now you can have him for free.'

Robert sighed. ‘Let it go, Oberon. You know this is a complete waste of time.'

‘On the contrary, it could be very interesting. We just have to come up with something of equal value for you to put forward.' Oberon tapped his finger against his chin. ‘I have it! Your sapphire ring. I've always been partial to it and that is what I claim as my prize.'

Robert stared. ‘You think I would risk a priceless family heirloom on something as feeble as this?'

‘Why not? A wager must always have a prize
and
a consequence or it is not worth the trouble. So what do you say? Are you in?'

There were times, Robert reflected, when it was impossible to find the words that would adequately describe how he felt about some of the things Oberon did. Just as it was equally hard to imagine that one day, the man sitting opposite him would wear a viscount's coronet and own a veritable fortune in property
and wealth. Robert picked up his glass and shook his head. ‘No.'

‘But why not? It is a harmless enough wager.'

‘Not if the terms of the wager become known to the ladies involved.'

‘Faith, Silver, when did you acquire such pretty manners? I remember a time when you would have wagered a month's allowance on something as inconsequential as in which direction a flock of pigeons took off.'

‘That was before my father shot himself over gambling debts he couldn't afford to repay,' Robert said quietly. ‘I swore then I wouldn't follow in his footsteps. And I won't have Jane ending up the same way as our poor mother.'

‘But she wouldn't, old man. Unlike your father,
you
never lose!'

‘A man's luck can change. Fortune is a fickle mistress.'

‘For others, perhaps, but not you. Your prowess at the tables is legendary.'

‘Count me out,' Robert said. ‘I want nothing to do with it.'

Oberon sat back, rapping his fingers on the table and looking thoroughly peeved. ‘Really, Silver, if I didn't like you so well, I'd pass you over for Welton. Unfortunately even he's begun to bore me of late. Twice now he's stood me up for lunch, and the last time I called round, he wouldn't even see me.'

Robert frowned. That didn't sound like Lawrence. When they had all been at Oxford together, it was most often Lawrence Welton to whom Oberon had gravitated. Likely because the affable Lawrence was the only one
who had not been openly critical of Oberon's debauched lifestyle. ‘Are you sure he's well?'

‘Well enough to attend a social engagement the same afternoon he stood me up,' Oberon said. ‘No, I've washed my hands of him. He used to be such good fun. Now he's become as staid and as boring…as you.'

Robert was unmoved by the criticism. So what if Oberon thought him boring?
He
knew what was important and it certainly wasn't deceiving innocent young women for the sake of someone else's pleasure or gain. ‘Play the game if you must, but I'll have nothing to do with it. However, I will offer a toast. To your future wife,' Robert said, raising his glass. ‘May she be as beautiful as Aphrodite, as gentle as Hestia—'

‘And as lusty as an Irish farmer's daughter,' Oberon said. ‘A toast to the dear lady's health…wherever she may be!'

 

It was late the following afternoon when Sophie finally stepped down from the carriage into the quiet of the respectable English street, and as far as she was concerned it wasn't a moment too soon. Her serviceable brown jacket and skirt were hopelessly creased, her half-boots were covered in dust, and there was a stain on the palm of her left glove from having touched something black and oily. Added to that, the unsettling events of the previous evening had made it impossible to sleep, leaving her feeling overly tired and decidedly on edge. If it weren't for Antoine, she would have climbed back into the carriage and turned the horses in the direction of home.

A long row of tall, white houses stretched before her, each with four stone steps leading to a shiny black
door. From the centre of each door, a brass lion roared a warning to those who came near, and to either side and above, rows of windows glinted in the last rays of sunlight. A square ran the length of the street, bordered by trees newly covered in green, and in front of each house, black wrought-iron posts stood waiting to receive horses and carriages.

It was a far cry from the crowded
Rue de Piêtre
and the three small rooms she and Antoine called home.

‘Buy some sweet violets, miss?' asked a young girl passing by with a tray. She was petite and dark haired, and the sweet smell rising from the flowers brought back bittersweet memories of home. Mama had always loved violets….

‘Non, merci,'
Sophie murmured, forgetting the girl wouldn't be able to speak French. Forgetting they weren't in France. They were in England, and suddenly it all seemed like a huge mistake. What in the world had made her think this was the right thing to do? Too much time had passed. They should never have come—

‘Upon my word, Sophie, is it really you?'

And then it was too late. The past caught up with the present and the moment of reckoning was at hand. Sophie looked up to see the door standing open and a swarm of black-coated servants emerge, like bees flying out of a hive. A couple stood on the top step, and while the beautiful woman in the exquisite silk gown was not known to her, the man…oh, yes, she knew the man. There might be lines around his mouth that hadn't been there before, and traces of grey peppering the dark, wavy hair, but his eyes were still the clear bright blue of a summer sky and his smile was still as warm as an August day in Provence. She would have
recognised him anywhere. ‘Lord Longworth,' Sophie said, breathing an audible sigh of relief. ‘It has been…a long time.'