Sex and the Single Earl (16 page)

“My reasons are twofold,” he began. As he explained the intricacies of his negotiations with Russell, a cloud of gloom settled over Robert’s countenance. Simon felt the sting of guilt, but he pushed it away. Robert knew as well as anyone that marriages in the aristocracy were made to strengthen families and estates, not satisfy emotional whims. Still, he should reassure the boy.

“But that’s not the only reason I want to marry Sophie,” he said, meeting Robert’s troubled gaze with a steady one of his own. “You know how fond I am of her. Nothing would make me happier than to care for her as she deserves to be cared for. I promise you she will be happy with me, and will never want for anything I can give her.”

Robert shook his head, looking even gloomier. Simon forced himself to remain silent, surprised by how much he needed the boy to believe him.

“Fond, eh? I hope you didn’t say that to her.”

Simon flexed his fingers on the spindly arm of the chair. There were days when Robert tried his patience almost as much as Sophie did.

“Robert, you know as well as I that Sophie has an unfortunate knack for getting into a great deal of trouble. I suspect that will only get worse over time. Did you know she went to the workhouse in Avon Street looking for the boy who stole her reticule?”

Robert’s eyes bugged out of their sockets. He started to sputter with outrage, but Simon cut him off.

“That’s just the beginning. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that your sister is in desperate need of a husband to control her more wayward impulses. You know it, your mother knows it, and your grandparents know it, too.”

“But—”

“I cherish Sophie. I always have, and I always will. She needs me, and you can’t doubt that she loves me. Ours will be a happy marriage, and it will put an end to the restlessness that seems to have come over her. She can’t be allowed to dwindle into an old maid. I simply won’t allow it, and neither should you.” Simon heard the determination in his own voice, realizing with a shock how much he meant it. He couldn’t bear the thought of Sophie growing old, unhappy and alone.

Robert deflated as if someone had pricked him with a needle. “Blast you, of course you’re right. And Annabel would seem to agree with you. But if you hurt her, Simon, in any way, I swear I’ll kill you. I mean it.”

Simon nodded. “I know. Sophie will be happy, Robert. I promise you.”

Robert straightened up and tugged on the edges of his waistcoat. He looked at him with an air of expectancy, slipping easily into the familiar habit of relying on Simon to provide the answers to life’s most vexing questions.

“Well, old man, I hope you have a plan, because Lord knows Sophie doesn’t listen to me. Never has.”

“I do have a plan. But we must—and I emphasize this, Robert—we must keep it from both Sophie and Annabel. Although my plan is entirely necessary, it’s not something either of them will like.”

Gloom settled over Robert’s features once more. “Then why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like it either?”

Lord, what had she done now?

Sophie expelled a weary sigh. Lady Langton stared at her from behind a stack of novels, her rabbitlike nose twitching with scandalized excitement. Sophie had noticed a similar reaction from several other people she had encountered since she left the townhouse in St. James’s Square immediately after breakfast.

She forced herself not to glare back at the plump baroness, shifting her attention to the impressive collection of history books in Mr. Barratt’s circulating library on Bond Street. But the finely tooled markings on the leather spines faded into a gilded blur as her thoughts traveled once more to the cause of her troubles.

Simon.

Her stomach lurched south at the thought of her absent fiancé. He had sent a note two days ago informing her that he was leaving town on business but would return to Bath as soon as he could. Her first reaction had been outrage at his cavalier dismissal of both her and his aunts, who had expected him for dinner that evening. That surge of emotion had been followed by a guilty wash of relief. She wasn’t ready to face him. Not yet. Not after how outrageously she had treated him in the Pump Room.

She squeezed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to block the images of that scene from her mind. But nothing could diminish the discomfort with her ploy to keep Simon at bay, or with his slack-jawed and then furious response to her refusal to acknowledge their earth-shattering intimacies.

Intimacies that had left their mark on her body and her soul. Intimacies that no sane woman would try to deny.

Her cheeks flamed with heat as she recalled the intoxicating strength of his muscular body, and how it had felt when he had pushed himself inside her. Her legs still grew weak at the memory. It meant she’d spent the last two days tottering around like an old lady, since their encounter on Lady Eleanor’s settee was all she could seem to think about.

Every waking moment.

And every sleeping moment too. Dreams of Simon’s hands stroking her skin and his mouth devouring her made her jerk awake each night, twisted in the sheets, her body drenched in sweat.

She clapped shut the
History of the Battle of Carthage
and shoved it back into its spot on the shelf. Enough was enough. She had spent more time thinking about Simon than he deserved. His disregard for her wishes had forced her into a distressing course of action, but it had been necessary. The sooner he learned he couldn’t bully her, the better. If Simon wanted to marry her, he must learn to treat her with consideration and respect, not order her about as if she were a child.

Ignoring the stares of Lady Langton, who seemed entranced by her presence in the shop, Sophie continued her fruitless perusal of Mr. Barratt’s shelves. Instead of wasting time thinking about Simon or looking at books, she should be devising a plan to help Toby and Becky. After all, they were the reason she had insisted on staying in town.

But how in heaven’s name could she assist them? Simon had forbidden her to return to their father’s tavern, and Becky had flatly refused her offer of help. Perhaps if she could discover the name of the children’s aunt and where she lived in London, she could somehow find a way to get them there. But she would need someone to help her acquire that information, and the only person who might be able to do that—besides Simon—was Reverend Crawford.

Yes, he would do.

Nodding to herself with satisfaction, Sophie spun on her heel to head for the door. She gasped, jerking back to avoid a crash with a woman dressed in a red velvet pelisse and enveloped in a cloud of expensive perfume.

Lady Randolph had apparently appeared out of thin air, her fern-colored eyes smoldering with ill will.

“Good morning, Miss Stanton.” Her ladyship’s voice held enough venom to poison a small town.

Sophie righted herself and shoved her poke bonnet out of her eyes. “Good morning, Lady Randolph. How…er…pleasant to see you.”

The woman’s eyes shot flaming arrows at her.

“It must be a pleasant morning for you, my dear. Allow me to offer my congratulations on your most advantageous match. I’m sure Simon is pleased to be adding to his holdings in the north. He has been looking to buy land in Yorkshire for quite the longest time, and your dowry will no doubt provide him with what he has been searching for.”

The air rushed from Sophie’s lungs in an enormous whoosh. Time ground to a halt as she stared into Lady Randolph’s perfect, rigid features.

“What are you talking about?” she finally blurted out.

The anger in Lady Randolph’s eyes leached away as another equally unpleasant emotion took its place. The image of a barn cat about to leap on a mouse flashed through Sophie’s brain.

“Why, your betrothal to Simon, Miss Stanton.” A chilling smile touched the edges of the countess’s red-tinted mouth. “I read the notice only this morning in the
Bath Chronicle
.” Lady Randolph raised her arm to display a crumpled newspaper that she held in her sleekly gloved hand.

Sophie snatched the paper and rustled through the pages until she found the notice. Starkly laid out in black and white for the world to see was an announcement of the betrothal of Miss Sophia Stanton to the Earl of Trask.

“Of course, the ladies of the ton will surely regret the loss of so fine a man to the obligations of matrimony.” Lady Randolph’s silken voice seemed to come from far away.

Sophie blinked rapidly, then raised her eyes to encounter a gaze oozing with malice. A feeling of doom began to penetrate the shock that held her nailed to the floorboards. Suddenly, the whispered titters between Lady Langton and another woman in the library took on new meaning, as did a loud snort of laughter from a man on the other side of the room.

“But Simon is a man who rarely disappoints a woman, if I do say so myself,” continued Lady Randolph. “I’m sure you’ll soon learn to share him with the rest of us.”

Sophie took a breath and met her rival’s lethal gaze head-on.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, my lady,” she said. “I have several other errands to attend to. Good day to you.”

She dropped the paper at Lady Randolph’s feet as she stepped around her to pass through the door into Bond Street. It took every ounce of willpower to keep her spine stiff and her pace even as she passed the windows of Mr. Barratt’s library. Her heart thundered in her chest, and her skin tingled with what she imagined were the avid gazes of people in the street.

Now everything was clear. The curious stares this morning. The whispers and the poorly concealed laughter. Simon had betrayed her. He had taken their secret and divulged it to the entire ton. He had laid bare his lack of trust, revealing how little respect he had for her.

And he had exposed her to a woman he knew despised her, and who quite possibly was still his mistress.

As Bond led into Milsom Street, she quickened her pace, her racing, angry heart driving her hard up the hill. By the time she reached the Circus, her pulse was beating drumlike through her limbs. If she hadn’t been so breathless, she would have hiked up her skirts and run the rest of the way home.

A few minutes later she arrived in St. James’s Square, flushed with exertion and panting with a fury that squeezed her chest. She pounded the knocker against the door, shifting from foot to foot until the footman let her in.

Yates emerged from a door at the back of the hall. “Good morning, miss.”

Sophie yanked at the ribbons of her bonnet, desperate to relieve the pressure of the silk bands from under her chin. Fighting an odd feeling that threatened to overwhelm her, she ripped the hat from her head and thrust it at the butler.

“Has Lady Eleanor come down from her room?”

“Yes, miss. Her ladyship is in the gold drawing room with morning callers.”

Sophie took a deep breath, hoping to calm her galloping heartbeat. “Who is here?”

“Lord Trask, and Mr. and Mrs. Stanton.”

Robert.
Thank God she didn’t have to face Simon alone. Her brother, at least, would stand by her.

Sophie stood for a moment in the hall, willing her heart to slow and her limbs to cease trembling. She would need her wits about her to confront Simon. It would be appallingly difficult, given that she would have to explain to the others why she had wished to keep their engagement a secret from everyone, including their own families.

“Very good, Yates. I’ll join them.”

She marched up the stairs behind the butler. He tapped on the door and announced her before stepping aside to let her pass by into the brightly lit room. She blinked hard and adjusted her glasses, trying to focus her eyes after the dim light of the hall.

After a few seconds the dancing motes in her vision disappeared, and the figures of her family settled into their familiar shapes. Robert and Annabel sat together on the settee. Lady Eleanor was ensconced in her favourite wingback chair, and Lady Jane stood just behind her, one slender hand resting on her sister’s shoulder. Warm October sunlight streamed through the windows, touching all their faces with a warm, comfortable glow.

All except one—a figure that stood backlit against the window, broad-shouldered, brutally masculine in its outline and almost menacing in its stillness.

Simon.

Lady Eleanor turned in her chair, her piercing eyes locking on Sophie.

“There you are. Please to come over and stand before me.”

She resisted the impulse to move, raising her chin as she stared back at her godmother. “I thank you, ma’am, but I’m quite comfortable where I am.”

The dark figure by the window shifted. Simon stepped forward, his handsome features thrown into relief now that he had stepped away from the shafting sunlight. Sophie’s heart sank at the self-contained, even remote, expression on his face. Did he have no idea what he’d done to her?

“My dear, why don’t you sit down?” His voice was gentle, but she heard the note of command.

“Thank you, no.” Her words seemed to be scraping over broken stones as they fought their way out of her parched mouth.

He sighed. “My love, I simply wish us to talk. Your family wishes to talk to us, as well.”

The brittle control inside her chest shattered. “How dare you call me that? How could you do this to me, Simon? You betrayed my trust. You’ve humiliated me before my friends and family. I’ll never forgive you.”

His dark brows shot up, and his cool reserve vanished in an instant. “Sophie, there’s no need to resort to childish threats.”

Robert shook his head. “That tears it,” he muttered, shifting his gaze away in an obvious attempt to avoid her eye.

Sophie hesitated, unnerved by her brother’s refusal to look at her. And was that a glare Annabel gave him? She never looked at Robert like that.

“Sophie.” Simon’s deep voice jerked her attention away from her family.

“What?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded sullen.

His gaze turned flinty. “Don’t be rude, my dear. It doesn’t become you.”

Her temper flared. “Why shouldn’t I be rude? You’re the one who said I was childish. Perhaps you’d like to lock me in my room without any supper.”

A muscle pulsed in his jaw. He took another step forward.

“Enough, Simon.” Lady Eleanor’s voice rapped through the room. “Sophia, please come over here right now.”

There was no point in disobeying. She cast another furious glance at Simon before moving to stand in front of her godmother. Her muscles ached from the mad dash home and the strain of holding herself so rigidly.

“Now, goddaughter, perhaps you would like to explain why you insisted on keeping your engagement to my nephew a secret? Surely there is no shame in a betrothal to the Earl of Trask?”

“My reasons are my business, Lady Eleanor,” she said, suddenly deciding she didn’t need to explain herself to anyone. “Simon promised to respect those reasons. Since he broke his promise, I see no reason to tell anyone else.”

“Sophia Stanton, how dare you speak to me in such an impertinent fashion? What would your dear mother say?” huffed Lady Eleanor. Lady Jane stirred from her motionless stance behind her sister and directed a warning frown at Sophie.

“Come on, Soph. No need to get all starchy. Tell me what the problem is,” Robert interjected in a wheedling tone. “Maybe I can help.”

Sophie whipped around. If she didn’t know better, she would think her brother was hiding something. She hadn’t seen him looking this guilty since the time he accidentally smashed her glass unicorn when he was twelve years old.

“The problem, Robert, is that my
betrothed
,” she invested the word with as much sarcasm as she could muster, “seems to think I’m a child he can order about willy-nilly. He has no respect for me, nor does he trust my judgment. That doesn’t bode well for a marriage.”

“Perhaps I would trust you more if you acted like a sensible woman instead of a petulant child,” Simon retorted.

“And perhaps I would trust
you
if you wouldn’t lie about why you really want to get married, or lie about your mistress.” The words flew past her lips before she could stop them.

A silence so thick she could almost feel it on her skin fell on the room. Lady Eleanor gaped at her, struck dumb, probably for the first time in her life.

“Sophia.” Simon’s voice dropped almost to a whisper, but the menacing growl was more disturbing than a shout. Sophie turned away from her godmother to meet his obsidian gaze, shivering at the dark warning that struck her like a blow. “We talked about this.”

For a long moment they stared at each other. Sophie felt the struggle between their wills on a soul-deep level—a struggle as dangerous, as powerful, and as intensely intimate as their lovemaking had been. Simon’s eyes flared with a different kind of heat as a flush crawled up her neck.

The image of Lady Randolph’s beautiful, spiteful face leapt into her mind. Did Simon look at the countess the way he was looking at her right now?

Sophie shook free of her paralysis. “Do you know how I found out about the announcement in the paper?”

He frowned, the wary look returning to his face. “I came to see you right after breakfast, but you had—”