Romancing the Rogue (15 page)

~~~~

She had long
envied the Cavendish girls their elder brother, the male protection without the strain of erotic undercurrents. Philip made her feel at peace despite every reason to the contrary
—
the pain in her ribs, the urgency to leave Rougemont, the thought of life without Wilhelm… She had nearly dozed off, until a nightmarish scream sounded from downstairs.

When she asked, Philip assured her Wilhelm would give over custody of Sir Vorlay to the constable, acting as magistrate. Even through his soothing tone, she knew Philip lied. Almost convincing, but Sophia knew more about deception than the average damsel. More telling had been the cool detachment in Wilhelm’s expression as he’d left the room. He killed Vorlay. And her father would know. What had she brought down upon Rougemont? On Wilhelm?

He made no sound, but Sophia sensed his presence when Wilhelm returned. Awareness vibrated on the back of her neck and chased down her spine. If she hadn’t become accustomed to the magnetic attraction between them after all these months, she probably never would. Philip deferred to Wilhelm and left the room.

Wilhelm sat next to her on the window seat then turned sideways, propping his back against the pane. He raised his knees and patted his collar, prompting her to rest against his chest. She obeyed, struck with the comparison of Philip’s pleasant company and the complicated effect Wilhelm’s touch had on her.

Both handsome, desirable men, but Sophia hadn't been tempted to turn her face into Philip’s neck and nibble on his ear. Her lips hadn’t prickled with the hope of a kiss, and when Philip looked down at her in that masculine way a man lowers his eyes at a woman, her stomach hadn’t dropped. She hadn’t once thought of Philip’s lap, whereas now she was all too aware of how her waist curved over Wilhelm’s groin. If she didn’t feel as though she had been wrangled by an angry sow, she might have made something of this rather delectable position.

Wilhelm rubbed his hand over the side of her thigh, one of the few spots that didn’t ache. His voice came as a lazy rumble. “Events have been set in motion which cannot be undone.”

“That’s a poetic way of confessing you killed one man and provoked a fight with another.”

He made a humorless chuckle, which served as acknowledgment. She was entirely muddled and had no idea if she should be mortified, relieved, or what else.

“Did you honestly think we could have prevailed in a court of law, Sophia?”

We?
No, it would have been just she, by herself. Sophia would never let Wilhelm drag his name through the mud alongside hers. And it would have been an international scandal. By the time the judge called them to trial, she would look healed and well, and the word of one ruined woman against an officer and gentleman? Not to mention her father would likely have found a way to bribe Vorlay out of jail before then. “No. I suppose not.”

“And do you think Vorlay would have accepted his defeat? Left you alone?”

No, he would have been livid and vengeful, a man like her father. She would have suffered the wrath of both Vorlay and Lord Chauncey if they’d caught her. “No, Wilhelm, you are right. But this is bad business all around.”

“For your part, I must ask you to trust me, Sophia.”

“I do trust you, Wilhelm.”

“Enough to marry me?”

Sophia scoffed. “I can’t marry you simply because I trust you. Frankly I am surprised to hear you ask again. I made myself quite clear
—
I am not eligible, for my sake as well as yours.”

“But you didn’t explain. And then you ran away.”

“You require an heir.”

“Forget that. Explain your objections already.” He sounded almost sleepy despite the edge of derision in his voice.

Sophia caught herself scraping her nails up and down his neck, lightly tugging on the hair behind his ear. “First tell me why you offer marriage.”

He made a sound halfway between a hum and a purr. “Because I want to bed you.”

“Then do it. I am no lady, so you cannot ruin me.”

“You called my bluff. Marry me, so I will always have a duet partner.”

“Wilhelm, please be serious.”

“I thought the first reason was good enough. But perhaps I want you to throw out my cognac and pinch me under the dinner table. Unfasten my buttons, call me scandalous pet names…”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “If not for rank or wealth, people marry for love. Seeing none of those apply, I’m at a loss. You don’t love me, Wilhelm, and I do not love you. Not the way you deserve. A few months of bed sport hardly justifies the disappointment that follows. I couldn’t stand for you to loathe me, Wil. You understand, don’t you?”

He cursed, “Damn all,” then fell silent.

Why would he not discuss this plainly? There had to be a reason, and she wanted to hear it. What did he have to gain by an alliance with her, after she had been plain about her indiscretions, her shameful family, as well as her inability to bear children? And he knew she had been sullied not once, but twice by attackers bent on rape.

“I could never thank you enough for your kindness, but I really am leaving, should have gone last night. I have a place at St. Angelo’s. I am late, but I am sure the offer still stands.”

She felt his heart beating under her cheek and counted a dozen pulses before he asked warily, “St. Angelo’s? What is that?”

“A convent. In Spain. The mother superior accepted me as a novice last winter, but I was a coward. I should never have come here.”

His hand stilled, fingers spread over her flank, but he seemed mindless of the impropriety. The silence felt neither like one of his trances nor the comfortable time he typically spent thinking over a matter. She sensed his unease in his tensed muscles, heard it in his heavy breath.

“I am truly sorry, Wilhelm.” She reached to hold his hand, but he clamped her fingers down. Dynasties rose and fell while she waited for him to speak
—
something, anything.

Just when she was about to scream, he said, “It appears we must revise our bargain. I shall give you the one thing you want most in exchange for the same. What do you want, Anne-Sophronia? More than anything?”

She didn’t have to pause and think about it. “Freedom.”

“Fair enough. I can grant it.”

Vainglorious, impossible man. He would probably have answered the same if she’d asked for Rome in a glass globe.

His hand moved again, tracing the thin scars latticed over her wrist and forearm, from the glass shards. She could never quite relax when he did that, certain he wondered why her arms were covered in scars. What would he say if he saw the rest? The whip marks?

“Now tell me, what conditions would settle you in favor of a marriage agreement?”

Oh, perhaps if you did love me…
“This is ridiculous. Why, Wilhelm? It makes no sense.”

“My reasons are my own.”

Since Wilhelm had barged through the door, she had in turn been dizzy with despair, anger, fear, and now frustration. In another minute, she would probably crawl under the bed and never come out. “Tell me why, or I refuse.”

“Another day. Not now. I have a special license burning a hole in my pocket, since the first time you refused me. Can you just trust me now?” He shifted, turning her to lie more on her back and relieve the weight from her sore ribs. How did he know they bothered her?

Wilhelm combed his fingers through her hair, drawing gentle lines down her back onto her hips. “What conditions, Sophia? A marriage in name only? Kept secret? I know you care little for money, but any luxury you desire is yours.”

She blew out a breath suspiciously close to a snort at his mention of money. His clever fingers scattered the remainder of her resistance. Not his offer of wealth, but of comfort and security she found hopelessly seductive. “All right. For reasons beyond me, you want us to marry. Fine. I do want it kept private.”

“Only the vicar and clerk. And Philip as witness; it must be indisputably legal.”

“You understand I cannot give you children.”

“Yes. I do not even demand you submit to so-called husbandly rights. But I do ask you to share my bed, for sleeping.”

“You are the strangest man I know.”

“May I call you Lady Devon, or must I say
Miss Rosalie?
”

“Lord Chauncey already knows I am here, so it hardly matters. If you can explain my transformation to everyone, do as you please.”

He sat up, scooped her into his arms, and stood. “Today, then. Now.”

What?
Why her? Why now, with her battered, wearing only a nightgown and robe? She could not convince herself to be happy about it. Either he was somehow taking advantage of her, or the opposite — he was martyring his happiness out of some misguided altruism.

“One more agreement, Wilhelm. If we tire of each other or the arrangement becomes dangerous, I am free to leave, claiming the marriage annulled. And you will not dispute it. In fact, I demand the notarized declaration of annulment in my possession before the ceremony, for safekeeping.”

The tiny muscle on the corner of his jaw rippled and his eyes narrowed. After a long breath in and out he grated, “As you say,” then carried her through the doorway.

Concerning An Unusual Wedding Night

What on earth
am I doing here?
She should have been halfway to Spain. Instead, Sophia lay half asleep in Lord Devon’s bed. With Lord Devon.

The previous day, Wilhelm had carried her inside a Tudor-era stone church he admitted to having never set foot in since childhood. Sophia had repeated vows, hating that she spoke them through swollen, cut lips.

Then he’d offered her the pick of the wine cellar, and she vaguely remembered divulging the worst of her secrets. Somehow Wilhelm found it amusing that she’d concocted her own brew of opium from the crop of Eastleigh hothouse poppies, drugged her father, and escaped in an unmarked service carriage wearing a dowager’s mourning costume and veil.

Worse, after a few more glasses, she’d told him what had led to it all: every sickening detail of how Lowdry had cornered her in the hothouse and attacked her, how her Fritz had saved her in a rescue uncannily similar to the current one, and how her father had flown into a rage when he’d found his plan thwarted. She recited his ugly words, how he’d degraded and punished her. Her memory was blurred, but Sophia recalled turning to lower her nightgown and letting Wilhelm examine her back.

“A riding crop?”
he’d half-shouted in disbelief. “
It was always whatever he had on hand,”
she’d answered, trying to sound unaffected. He’d fallen silent for long minutes after that.

Any worry that Wilhelm might have reneged on his promise of a name-only
marriage was unfounded. Completely
un
amorous, he’d simply fallen asleep. It had been she who crossed to the other side of the mattress to lie in his arms.

For all her purported brazenness, she surprised herself by feeling rather prudish at the inevitability of lying with a man. Making love. Being bedded. Tumbled. Mercy, she could barely stand to even think the word.
Sexual congress, Sophia. That is what married people do.
Just the same, she was shamefully, abjectly frightened of Wilhelm as a husband.

Warm, strong hands stroked over her rear, up and down with his thumbs dragging. How long had he been awake?

“Good morning, Wilhelm.”

He hummed, his tenor voice sounding more like a husky baritone. “Lady Devon.”

Oh how strange!

“How do you feel?”

“Better.” Until she caused the next country scandal — she looked like a prizefighter.

“You look better. How about a holiday in Cornwall while you recover?”

“I think those are the most beautiful words you’ve ever spoken to me.”

He raised one knee, sliding her to center over him from shoulder to knee. He stretched beneath her, turning her man-sized cushion into a wall of ropy steel muscle until he relaxed with a lazy rumbling sigh. “Chocolate-dipped raspberries?”

“Even more inspiring.”

“Pomegranate wine, silver moonlight, a hot breeze, and swimming naked in the ocean.”

“Hmm. Your morning voice is very appealing. And I had no idea you were so romantic.” She slid away, easing the weight off her protesting ribs. “Are the girls coming along?”

“Well, yes, of course.”

“Then you can forget the last part.”

He rolled to rest on his elbows, staring at her intently, searching.

“What? Am I so hideous in the morning?”

One corner of his mouth pulled into a not-quite-smile. He cradled her jaw with his hand and gave her that eerie soul-searching look. “I suppose I am waiting…”

“For what?”

“I feared Vorlay had broken you. I don’t think he has.” Wilhelm leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth, the only unblemished spot. “Beautiful, strong Sophia. Made of steel and fire — I knew it.”

She lowered her head to the pillow and blinked, trying not to weep. She had done far too much of that lately. In moments like these, Wilhelm truly shone, and if she didn’t know better, she might think he did love her…

“Wilhelm, you aren’t angry we are chaste?”

“Angry? No.”

“Then what?”

“Sophia, if you ever repeat this I will deny it, but I have never bedded a woman. I am terrified at the prospect.
You
will probably have to bed
me
.”

So he assumed she had experience? She scoffed. “Surely. Like the way you had never been kissed?”

“That was a game, and you liked it. I am in earnest now.”

“You, Wilhelm Montegue
—
a virgin?”

He covered her mouth. “Hush! Not so loud. I have a seedy reputation to uphold. Perhaps you could appear sleepy and sated for my sake? A silly smile every now and then, so everyone thinks I worked you over?”

She laughed, even though it hurt. “Better yet, I won’t come out of the bedroom today at all. Let them wonder.” There, finally — his rakish pirate smile.

“I will call for breakfast.” He grimaced. “And now I want to clean my teeth. And I missed my morning walk and chess match with Martin. And I need to send a wire to Lancashire.”

“Carry on. Don’t mind me.” Sophia arched her back, stretching on the bed. He watched, his eyes making slow progress from her ankles to neck. She couldn’t quite make out what he muttered. “What was that?”

He still stared, making her self-conscious. Sophia closed her eyes and rested. At times she forgot about his condition, and other times it was quite plain how it enslaved him.

“Symmetry,” he said absently after several minutes. “One point six three, only eight-tenths of a percentage point deviation from the Golden Ratio. Virtual aesthetic symmetry, as you probably know.” She opened her eyes from a light doze to find him looking apologetic. “Fibonacci, and all that. And I like your underwear.”

Sophia furrowed her brows and a smile pulled her lips. Quoting a mathematician to poeticize her beauty? “Go clean your teeth, Wilhelm. And send my breakfast.”

“You are beautiful. Lovely. Exotic like a flamenco dancer.”

“Ah, thank you.”

“You hardly care, don’t you?”

“On the contrary, I am likely the most vain woman you will ever meet.”

“I think you like it better when I flatter your mind. It’s true you are the most clever woman I know.”

“Then which man of your acquaintance is more clever?”

“Touché.” He chuckled. “You are by far the cleverest
creature
I have ever met, man, woman, or animal.”

“Then I shall concede, against my better judgment, that you are the most devilishly handsome and desirable man in all England.”

He hummed. “And it pains you to do so?”

“Exceedingly.”

~~~~

“Martin, I believe
I am capable of taking care of Wilhelm for two weeks.”

“I thank you kindly, my lady, but my lord needs me.”

Sophia reached for the stack of linen shirts the same time as the butler. She tugged the shirts out of his hands then wished she hadn’t as her ribs protested. “As his bride, it’s in my best interest to keep him out of his clothes by turn, and properly dressed when warranted. I vow to guide him accordingly.”

Martin appeared to debate whether or not he dared grab back. They glared a mutual challenge, then his mouth twitched in an almost-smile as he conceded. He packed Wilhelm’s shaving kit and blurted, “I know your mother.”

“What you mean to say is, you recognized me months ago yet granted me a boon. Thank you, Martin.”

“I served under Colonel Duncombe — before he was Lord Chauncey — in the Twenty-Third Battalion.” Martin, the consummate domestic professional, betrayed no opinion of this.

“I am sorry to hear it.”

He twitched a ghost of a smile again.

“You can say it, Martin. No one loathes my father more than I.”

“I wouldn’t mind sending him to hell, ma’am.”

“There is a long queue for that.”

“Do have a care, my lady. Months ago we sent the investigators away with false information, but then Vorlay recognized you and betrayed us. A sly one, Chauncey is.”

“I can outwit my father. I have done it before. What concerns me is Wilhelm.”

“Aye, he will guard you with his life.” Martin chortled and stacked Wilhelm’s fancy grey lawn drawers in the trunk. “
Iron Wil
, we called him in the army — puts his mind to it, good as done. That, and he has eyes for no woman, no matter how comely. Excepting my lady, of course. Fond of you, in his own way, ma’am.”

If only.
“He is a good man, that is true.”

“Do take good care of my lord, ma’am. Not the sort to suffer his displeasure in silence, and your diversion keeps the growling to a dull roar, if you catch my meaning, ma’am.”

“I will do my best, but as you observed, Wilhelm does as he pleases.”

Mrs. Abbott knocked on the door and brought Sophia a telegram, accompanied by a sour expression that showed exactly what the housekeeper thought of housemaids who made themselves countesses. Sophia wanted to tell Mrs. Abbott she agreed it was atrocious, but she represented Lord Devon now, and such an apology would insult him.

“That will be all, thank you, Mrs. Abbott.”

The housekeeper dropped in a curtsey far too low and formal, which Sophia ignored.

She opened the telegram and read from Lady Lambrick, her co-conspirator, writing from neighboring Somersetshire:
Congratulations Lady Devon. Stop. Your mother en route here. Stop. Chauncey is livid, suggest you go abroad. Stop. I will make the best of godmothers.

Wilhelm came through the door, short of breath. “Good, you’re dressed. Sophia, we must go. Are you ready?”

She waved the telegram. “What have you done?”

“What?” He appeared genuinely unaware.

“A note of congratulations from Lady Lambrick. Oh, and she thinks she is godmother to our baby.”

Infuriating man, his lips twitched in a smile. “Yes. Well, I needed a liaison, for information. Including your name — all five of them, now six — for the marriage license. And I thought you wanted your mother looked after.” His tone implied Lady Chauncey was not so bright, an unfortunate but fair assessment. Helena Duncombe would have made a better wood nymph than viscountess. “I might have encouraged your friend’s matronly ambitions in the process.”

Her conscience nagged through her irritation, suggesting she should thank him for protecting her mother. Thoughtful of him. But making such a promise? “Superb, Wilhelm. We have my father, Aunt Louisa, and now Lady Lambrick, all fighting over a baby who will never exist.”

The moment she complained, she wished her words forgotten. He had to know it was the truth, but her unkind phrasing struck him; she saw it. He flinched, and a crestfallen look came over him before he arranged his features in a neutral expression. Oh, no. He wanted to be a father, secretly hoped for it. What had she done, marrying him?

He said politely, with flinty eyes, “I will sort it out later, Anne-Sophia. I have asked for your trust, and that includes not questioning my judgment.”

Riddled with guilt, she didn’t have the heart to start a quarrel. She fought the tears blurring her vision and swallowed hard, devastated by the memory of the hurt she’d seen in his expression. It would haunt her that night, perhaps for years to come. “I am so sorry, Wil.”

Sorry for all of it.