Most Improper Miss Sophie Valentine (9 page)

***

Lazarus was intrigued by this prim-faced little woman with the deliciously tempting lips, this chaste spinster in French lace drawers. She was moving directly up against his arm into his ready embrace—exactly where she professed she didn't want to be, and exactly where he yearned to have her.

He was incredibly aroused just to be this near. The scent of her hair made him quite light-headed. He could see every rapid breath she took, her breasts straining against that tight corset. His throat was dry, his loins heavy.

Her lips wobbled for a brief moment, and he heard a slight groan, as if she were trying to restrain something. His heart lifted. Was she going to laugh? Yes. He saw it in her eyes—a warm amusement with him, with herself, and with their circumstances. He even felt her body tremble, ready to give way to a fit of giggles.

But she controlled herself, straightened up, and resumed her stern and proper schoolmistress voice again.

“I have other things to do with my day than wait around for some shallow young rake to make a greater fool of me than I can make of myself. There are plenty of other women here, and you may perform for all of them, but I'm not so easily impressed. I know a brash, vainglorious fool when I see one, and I stopped being breathless and wide-eyed over your sort when I was a great deal younger even than you are now.
Perhaps
you'll grow out of it. Most little boys do. Good day, sir!” She turned swiftly, ducked under his arm, and slammed the door in his face.

Lazarus stared, thinking how easily he could break apart those thin wooden panels with his shoulder and his bare hands.

The damned woman was rude, churlish, and ungrateful. For such a small, delicate-looking kitten, she had quite a bite and a set of sharp claws. And when her temper was up, she was more beautiful and beguiling than she had any wretched right to be. He'd better walk away now and save that innocent schoolhouse door from taking the brunt of his frustration.

Then he heard a stifled burst of laughter through the wood panels. He'd never been so confused by a woman in his life. Nor so aroused.

All Sophie's attempts to ignore the stranger's presence at the end of the lane soon proved impossible. Daily, the fellow's curious antics were brought to her attention, and rarely could a handful of hours pass without mention of the name Lazarus Kane.

He was witnessed playing cricket with Mrs. Finchly's sons, inspiring them, no doubt, to even greater depths of wickedness. He was apparently skilled with his hands, and he built a luxurious new birdcage for Mrs. Cawley's parrot and mended the cowshed roof for Dairyman Osborne. According to Henry, there could be only devious motives behind so much altruism. No good would come of it.

Villagers passing the repaired gate at Souls Dryft saw the place much improved, all by Kane's own hands and in such a short amount of time. The new resident must have wondered at the increasing number of ladies, young and old, who passed his gate each day while he worked in the yard without his shirt. At first, it was only one or two ladies scuttling by, averting their eyes, but very soon it grew to small flocks of four or five, who often passed more than twice in a single morning, and seldom a hurried step amongst them.

Henry secured promises from several folk not to attend the party at Souls Dryft. But as time passed, a strange thing happened. People began to form their own opinions without conferring first with Henry. One by one, they forgot their vows not to attend.

Even Lavinia weakened. Unfortunately for Henry, he made the mistake of purchasing his wife a new lace shawl that week. Now she complained of having no cause to wear that lace shawl, especially if he meant to stop her from attending the party and keep her trapped at home within the “moldy walls” of that fortress. She nagged at him for four-and-twenty hours, until he could take no more and told her she must do as she wished with her lace shawl—even strangle herself with it—but he would not accompany her to the party. In reply, she declared she would gladly go with Mr. and Mrs. Bentley.

“What can you mean?” he exclaimed. “My sister Maria will not go. I'm sure of it. She knows my opinion on the matter.”

Lavinia replied smugly, “But as they are representatives of the church, she told me yesterday it's only proper they welcome the stranger to Sydney Dovedale.”

Now Henry had no choice. “Unfortunately, thanks to my sister's betrayal, I must go and keep an eye on things,” he stated. “If I stay away, the villain might think he gained a victory.”

***

Once they were gone, Sophie settled in with a book. All was peaceful until Finn sat bolt upright in her chair, exclaiming, “I'm betaken with a desire to dance.”

Sophie looked up warily over the top edge of her page.

“We should go to the party,” her aunt added emphatically, already half out of her chair.

“I think we'd much better stay here.”

“No, no, Sophie. We'll go to the party and dance.” The lady began fussing over her dress, clearly afraid it was too plain and worn. “And I've nothing for my hair.” She touched her lace cap with nervous fingers. “Lord! 'Tis so long since I attended a dance. Mayhap I've forgot the steps.”

“Please sit down, Aunt. You upset yourself.”

But Finn had her mind set. “Would you deny an old woman the pleasure of a good dance, when one has not been had in so long, Sophie? Surely you could not be so cruel! And you were always my favorite niece.”

Sophie sighed heavily. She wondered if her brother could have got far along the lane yet. If he might be caught, Aunt Finn could go on with them, and she could return to the cookhouse alone. She finally fetched her aunt's woolen shawl, in case there might be a chill nip in the air.

“I don't know what's got into you this evening,” she muttered. “If you should catch cold going out tonight…”

Aunt Finn skipped on ahead, already through the door while Sophie was still removing her apron and putting a guard over the fire. There was no time to find her best shoes or check her face in the mirror and, in any case, she thought, what did it matter? She knew her reflection well enough, and staring at it would change nothing. At the door, she pulled on her dusty boots but could find neither a bonnet nor her spencer. There was no time to look further. She'd just have to do as she was. As she ran across the courtyard in pursuit of her aunt, she looked for any sign of Henry, but he and his wife must have walked with unusual speed. Lavinia, of course, wouldn't want to risk the food all being gone before she got there.

“Hurry, Sophie!”

“I come, Aunt, I come!” she cried breathlessly. “I do wish you'd return to the cookhouse. We can dance there, and it'll be quite the same.”

But the gleeful lady linked her arm under Sophie's, almost dragging her along the lane. “You, my dear, have spent too long dancing alone. You've read that book from cover to cover more times than I can count. 'Tis time to put all that knowledge to practice. There is no occasion to be fearful of the real article, is there?”

So her aunt had seen through her subterfuge all along.

“No need to blush, Sophie my dear,” Finn exclaimed breezily. “'Tis healthy and natural to be curious. What
is
unnatural is to stifle it. I found that book among the possessions of my lovely captain many years ago and kept it as a souvenir of our affair.”

The man she referred to as the captain was now the admiral—the same fellow who owned Souls Dryft. Almost thirty years ago, he and Finn enjoyed a scandalous love affair, much to her family's humiliation. She was not in the least remorseful and still mentioned her captain with great fondness, despite that he never wrote and apparently went on to enjoy other affairs, soon forgetting the young lady to whom he once swore undying love.

Henry referred to their aunt as “a fallen woman best left where she fell, because she'll only do it again, given half the chance.” Sophie often imagined he thought the same of her.

And tonight, after so many years of relatively good behavior, Finn Valentine was apparently in the mood to cause trouble again.

They were at the gate in the next moment, and Sophie's wondering gaze swept up over the farmhouse with its repaired, repainted shutters. Underneath the new paint, it was still the place in which she'd spent a happy childhood. How long ago it now seemed since she and her siblings chased hens, piglets, and one another about that yard. She closed her eyes and deeply inhaled the sweet fragrance weeping from the orchard where blossoms still hung heavy, some trodden underfoot, merging with rich new grass and churned mud. When her father was still alive, the stables were full of farm horses, great solid beasts with docked tails, lively pricked ears, and fluttering nostrils. She still recalled the heavy, plodding thud of their massive hooves and the creak of their leather harness as they came home down the lane after working in the field all day. How gently they nibbled her fingers when she ran out to feed them treats and pet their broad pink muzzles.

Although Sophia had promised herself not to look for Lazarus, his face was the first she encountered looking back at her, his expression one of surprise followed by something else. Sophie sidled away into a shadowy corner, self-conscious in her old gown and muddy boots, but Aunt Finn, in her giddy mood, wouldn't be satisfied merely as a spectator. She soon wrestled free of her niece's clutches to wreak havoc at the cider barrel.

Henry shouldered his way through the throng, demanding to know what they were doing there. Sophie sorrowfully explained Aunt Finn's sudden desire to dance and added, if Henry promised to watch over the lady, she'd gladly leave.

“Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “You will take her home with you directly!”

As her brother moved away, she saw she was, once again, the target of Kane's dark, curious stare. Caught looking, he turned his head, but only partially this time, showing his profile as he talked to the rector.

He needed a shave and a hair trim, she mused idly. Someone ought to take better care of him. And then she chastised herself for those wistful fancies and reminded her inner hussy to behave. She'd already decided, hadn't she? The stranger was not for her, and she'd caused enough trouble for her family already.

But even the way Lazarus Kane moved made her quite unaccountably feisty. It was a long time since she'd danced with a young man, but she remembered what it was like. And if she let her imagination wander, she could feel herself dancing with him, his strong hand lightly holding hers, his attention riveted on her. She began to get rather overheated.

***

Henry bellowed for his wife, but Lavinia wanted to stay longer and wouldn't be removed unless he lifted her over his shoulder—an act at which stronger men than he would balk. Having found a small coven of like-minded complainers, she sat with them, holding court on the inadequacies of husbands, mixed in with some thoughts on fashion and the effectiveness of various lotions for wart removal. Sophie could hear her even from a good distance away and over the music.

Obviously frustrated, Henry now apprehended Aunt Finn and firmly seized her elbow. There was a brief scuffle, and Sophie watched her brother's face darkening, his gestures growing stiff as he lost patience.

“You perspire, Henry,” Finn observed loudly. “You should worry less. Continue on this path, and you'll be dead before you're forty.” She laughed and shook her finger in his red face.

Sophie hid a smile and turned her attention to the other guests.

She watched as Kane danced with the equine Miss Osborne and then the Misses Dawkins—one after the other. There seemed no limit to his charm or energy. Just as she was thinking how hot he must be under his ivory silk cravat, he loosened it. Then he removed his fine jacket to continue in shirt and waistcoat, but not once did he sit out a dance until the band took a short rest. At one point, as he passed near her, the torchlight flickered across his crow-black hair, and she saw it was damp with sweat and sticking to his brow. As he blinked slowly, a small bead of water dripped from his jet lashes. He looked up abruptly, and their eyes met.

A sudden scream, followed by a loud splash, shattered the opportunity for any conversation.

All attention was drawn to the water trough by the cider barrel. There sprawled Henry, legs and arms dangling, his broad form half-submerged in the cold water. Aunt Finn stood calmly beside the trough, hands clasped behind her back, a large wet stain on the front of her gown. After a brief, stunned silence, the crowd broke into chuckles that soon swelled to a great drunken guffawing.

Sophie went to her brother's aid, as did Lazarus, but Henry wanted no help and insisted on climbing out under his own power as he furiously cursed his host. Aunt Finn would, ever after, claim it was an accident he ended up in the water trough, but not a soul believed it—least of all Henry. Crimson-faced, he hissed at Sophie, “You'll take her home at once.”

But Finn protested she'd not yet had her dance.

“For pity's sake,” Henry snapped, “no one is going to dance with you. Your dancing days are long over. You will return to the house at once. Indeed, we all shall.”

He bellowed for Lavinia and turned on his heel, water squelching inside his shiny boots. The laughter now ended as most folk looked on in various shades of sympathy and disgust for Henry's unkindness to Aunt Finn. Sophie, heart fallen to her knees, prepared to apologize on her brother's behalf.

And then Lazarus said, “Miss Finn Valentine, would you do me the honor?”

He politely bowed his head and offered a hand to Aunt Finn. As if alerted by some subtle signal, the little band seated on a pile of hay bales nearby immediately struck up a tune. The crowd gathered around for another dance, forgetting the little scene around the water trough, and Finn, beaming anew, graciously accepted his hand.

Sophie could breathe again, but only somewhat unevenly.

With no further ado, Henry found Lavinia and steered her home, prodding at her with his cane whenever she snuffled in protest. He was so rattled he left Sophie behind. She took a few steps back into the shadows behind the cider barrel and waited for Aunt Finn to be done with her dance.