Sex and the Single Earl (24 page)

“Hurry, hurry,” sobbed Becky.

Sophie didn’t hear the creak of the door and the scrape of a boot until it was too late. As Becky looked up with a startled gasp, a massive fist crashed down and caught James in the temple. The footman collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Sophie cried out as a swarthy man—demonic-looking in the fitful light—yanked her up from the floorboards. Cruel fingers bit deep into her arms, lifting her until her feet dangled off the floor.

“Pa, don’t hurt the lady,” Becky wailed.

“Shut your yap, girl,” he snarled.

Sophie gazed into Taylor’s mud-colored eyes. Her breath seized in her lungs. If Simon didn’t arrive in short order, she would soon be dead. Or worse.

Panic gave her strength, and she struggled to free herself from his punishing hold.

“Let me down immediately,” she gasped, fighting to keep her voice strong. “You’ll be sorry if you don’t.”

Fear squeezed her heart as Taylor responded to her futile command with a taunting laugh.

“And who might you be, little lady? Come to steal my Becky right out from under my nose, are you? Who sent you? Mrs. Cummings? That cow had her chance, but I wasn’t good enough for her fancy house. So she tries to steal my girl for her own customers.”

He shook her so hard Sophie’s teeth chattered.

“I have n-no idea what you’re talking about,” she stuttered.

“Not likely.”

“She don’t, Pa. I promise.” Becky gazed at Sophie, her eyes dead with despair. “Ma Cummings keeps a brothel on Little Corn Street. Pa tried to sell me to her, but she refused.”

“Aye, she did. Too young, she said Becky was. Called me a pig for trying to get what I deserved. Now I know what her game was. Steal her away from me.”

A pulse of fury rippled through Sophie’s body. “You’re mad,” she snarled into Taylor’s ugly face. “Put me down and let me take your daughter from this place, or I’ll see you swing from the gallows!”

The big man lashed a blow across her face. Pain exploded through her skull. She struggled for breath, too stunned to cry out as sparks danced before her vision.

“Pa!” shrieked Becky.

“What’s happening in here?”

Sophie tried to squint through the starbursts to see who had entered the room, but Taylor’s blow had knocked her glasses askew. He gave her another shake and dropped her to the floor. She fell hard on her bottom, groaning as pain lanced up her spine.

“Jem, what are you doing?” The stern voice came from a woman who moved quickly to Taylor’s side.

Sophie righted her glasses and peered at a woman both handsome and genteel looking, clad in a black, well-cut dress. Her glistening brown hair was pulled into a smooth chignon, and she had a sensible, calm-looking countenance.

Thank God.
Surely, this lady would help them.

“Please, ma’am.” Sophie crawled over to put her arms around a trembling Becky. “I’ve come to take this girl away from here. Her father is about to sell her to one of those men out there. He must be stopped.”

The woman arched her plucked brows and perused Sophie. Then she let out a husky peal of laughter.

“Oh, miss,” moaned Becky. “That’s Mrs. Delacourt. She’s the abbess who’s going to sell me.”

Sophie met the woman’s amused, callous gaze. A horrified chill began to seep through her veins.

Oh, God.
If Simon didn’t arrive soon they were done for.

“What is your name, my dear?” Mrs. Delacourt asked in a voice as pleasant as if they had encountered each other in the Pump Room.

“Sophie Stanton,” she managed to croak out.

“Well, Miss Stanton, I don’t know why you”—she glanced down at James’s body—“and your friend want our Becky—”

“She’s one of Cummings’s girls,” interrupted Taylor.

Mrs. Delacourt frowned. “No. I know all her girls. And this one doesn’t have the look about her. Too innocent.”

“I’m here to take Becky from this vile place,” Sophie said in sharp voice. “My fiancé is the Earl of Trask. He will be here at any moment to rescue me. I would strongly suggest you let us go before that happens.”

Mrs. Delacourt looked incredulous. “Surely, my dear, you don’t expect us to believe
that
Banbury tale. No respectable woman would ever set foot in The Silver Oak—much less sneak in through the back door. What kind of lord would allow his fiancée to run around town like a common trollop?”

“Clara.”

Sophie’s attention snapped back to Taylor. Amazingly, the color had leached from his ruddy face.

“What now?” Mrs. Delacourt snapped.

“The little bitch might be telling the truth.”

Mrs. Delacourt went very still.

“Trask was in here yesterday.” Taylor’s eyes shifted away from the madam’s sharp gaze. “He warned me not to hurt Becky. That’s why I thought we should go on with the auction right away. Get it over with before he came back.”

A vein pulsed in the woman’s forehead. “And you’re telling me this
now
?” She reached down and flicked aside Sophie’s grey cloak, running an expert eye over the blue cambric gown that lay beneath. Dismay cut a harsh track across her face.

“Lord Trask is on his way this moment.” Sophie couldn’t keep a small note of triumph from her voice.

Mrs. Delacourt’s eyes narrowed to calculating slits as she studied Sophie’s face. For a moment she seemed to waver, but then a cunning smile pulled up the corners of her mouth.

“I doubt it. You may be his fiancée, but I don’t believe he’d permit you to come down here with only a…well, a servant, by the looks of him. I suspect his lordship doesn’t even know you’re here. Still, you’re quite the little problem, aren’t you?”

Sophie ignored the swell of fear in her belly. “I assure you—”

“Shut your gob,” snarled Taylor. He looked at Mrs. Delacourt. “What do we do with them?”

“Kill them,” she replied in a dispassionate voice.

Sophie felt the floor drop out from under her.

Taylor yelped. “Have you gone daft, woman? She’s quality!”

“My point exactly. She’ll bring us down, Jem. Look what you’ve done to her face.”

All at once, Sophie became aware of a dull throb below her cheekbone. She touched her face, wincing at the stab of pain. When she pulled her hand away it was sticky with blood.

“You’ve assaulted a lady, Jem. I’ve no intention of ending up on a transport ship, or swinging from the gallows. I’ve worked too hard to escape this pesthole, and I won’t let an interfering chit stop me now. You’ve got to kill them and dump the bodies. With luck, they’ll think the pretty thing has run off with her footman.” She laughed. “She certainly wouldn’t be the first lady to do so.”

Taylor’s eyes rolled in panic. “But what if Trask comes looking for her at The Oak?”

Mrs. Delacourt flushed scarlet with rage. “And what can we do, Jem? Let them go? We’re done here in Bath, and you know it. The new magistrate has been sniffing around The Oak for weeks. We’ve made enough to start over somewhere else, especially after tonight. Becky’s sure to fetch us a handsome price.”

Taylor looked surly, but finally relented with a grunt and a nod.

“Good.” The madam reached down and grabbed Becky by the shoulders. “I’ll take care of this. You get rid of them.”

“No!” the girl shrieked, clinging to Sophie.

Rage jolted Sophie’s heart into a roaring gallop, flooding her with a desperate strength. She kicked Mrs. Delacourt while trying to maintain her hold on Becky. Her foot connected with the madam’s shin. Mrs. Delacourt staggered back with a scream of outraged pain.

“That’s enough.” Taylor grabbed Sophie by the hair, dragging her backward across the rough floorboards, away from Becky’s clutching hands. Her eyes flooded with water as pain lanced through her scalp, like he was ripping out every hair on her head.

She blinked a few times, trying to clear her vision. By the time she could see again, Mrs. Delacourt had dragged the sobbing girl from the room, slamming the door behind her. A horrid silence fell over the storeroom, broken only by Taylor’s harsh breathing. Sophie raised her eyes to meet her captor’s feral gaze.

He looked like a wild boar, right down to the white foam leaking from the corners of his mouth. Taylor peeled back his thick, wet lips in a travesty of a smile. It was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen.

“Now, girl, I think we have enough time to spread your pretty thighs before I kill you.”

His gaze flickered to her legs. Sophie looked down and saw that her dress and chemise had bunched up around her knees. She struggled to yank them down, scrambling away from the beefy hands that grasped at her.

“You’ve ruined everything,” he rasped. “Now I’ll take what I’m owed for my troubles. My cock will be the last thing you feel before you die.”

Sophie slammed up against the wall. Taylor laughed and stalked toward her. She cast a wild glance at James, still motionless in the opposite corner. He would be dead soon too.

Oh God, Simon—where are you?

She swallowed a hysterical sob as Taylor loomed over her. His hand moved to the fall of his breeches, and he started to flick open the buttons. As he worked to free himself, revulsion surged in a burning tide through her veins. It couldn’t end like this. She couldn’t give up. Not without a fight.

Sophie exploded off the floor, flinging herself past Taylor’s legs. He grunted in surprise. She didn’t look back as she scrambled to her feet and ran for the door. As her fingers touched the handle his meaty hand grabbed her neck, yanking her away from the door. She screamed, her breath rushing out from her lungs in an agonizing shriek.

“Shut up, you bitch!”

Taylor spun her around, seizing her shoulders in an iron grip. His features purple with rage, he looked like a devil from the depths of hell. Sophie struggled wildly in his grasp and shrieked again.

He struck her on the side of the head, knocking her to the floor. She collapsed, stunned by the pain, unable to move or even make a sound.

Taylor kicked her legs apart. Flinging himself down on her, his massive body squeezed out what little breath remained in her lungs. His clumsy hands began to fumble with her skirts.

She tried to push him off, but a nightmarish lethargy gripped her limbs. Black threads snaked across her vision. Panic began to fade, but something worse replaced it—a dull certainty that she would never see Simon or her family again.

A loud crash penetrated her leaden misery. Suddenly, Taylor’s body seemed to fly through the air. As it thudded to the floor she gave a huge gasp, coughing as her chest felt the freedom from his weight. After a moment, her vision cleared, and she saw a man standing over her.

Simon.
Looking like an avenging angel.

“Sophie, are you all right?” His voice was glacial, but his dark eyes burned with rage.

She managed a nod.

Simon looked over at Taylor, who was moaning into the floorboards. A cold smile touched the edges of her fiancé’s lips.

“And now, you bastard, I’m going to kill you.”

Simon launched across the room and hurtled into Taylor just as the big man pulled himself to his knees.

Sophie struggled into a sitting position, sucking deep pulls of breath into her straining lungs. Without her spectacles, and in the dim, flickering light, she could barely see. She began to grope for the gold frames, trying to ignore the sounds of the pitched battle behind her.

There!
Her spectacles had fetched up against a crate. She grabbed them and shoved the battered frames onto her nose, scrambling to her feet as a tremendous crash rocked the storeroom.

She spun around. Simon and Taylor were rolling on the floor, knocking over boxes and casks as they landed punishing blows on each other. A cask flew against the wall and splintered, spilling a cascade of ale over the rough floorboards. Both men slipped in the frothing liquid, neither able to find enough purchase to get to his feet.

They grappled, and, even though Taylor was the bigger man, Simon managed to pin him to the ground. But the brute wrenched an arm free and drove a huge fist toward Simon’s head. Sophie gave a strangled cry as Simon jerked back with a grunt, evading what would have been a devastating blow. Locked together, they rolled into the crate holding the oil lamp, sending it teetering over the edge of the makeshift table. Sophie lunged and grabbed it before it crashed to the floor.

With the killing grace of a predator, Simon surged up into a fighter’s crouch. As Taylor came up to his knees, Simon smashed his fist into the man’s face. The blow connected with a sickening crunch, snapping the big man’s head back. Blood sprayed from his shattered nose.

Desperate to help but uncertain how, Sophie hovered close as Simon rained more ferocious punches on Taylor’s face and body. Cursing, the big man lashed out, connecting once or twice. But Simon might as well have been carved from a slab of marble for all the effect Taylor’s blows had. He quickly reduced Taylor to a cowering, blood-spattered mass, his broad back pressed to the wall as he covered his face and pleaded in a slurred voice for Simon to stop.

Sophie realized with a sickening jolt that Simon had every intention of beating the man to death. She had to stop him. Taylor deserved to die, but God knows what would happen to Simon if he killed him. He might even end up on trial for murder.

She dumped the lamp on a crate and skidded over the slippery floor to his side.

“Simon!” she cried, grabbing his arm. He flicked her off as if she were nothing more than a fly. He slammed his fist into Taylor’s jaw, and the man crumpled to the floor. Simon pounced on his prostrate body and cocked his arm again. But before he could unleash another blow, Sophie grasped his shoulders and hauled back with all her might.

“Simon, no! Please stop. He didn’t hurt me.”

Blind with rage, he tried to shake her loose again, but she clung to him, pleading for him to stop, begging him to listen. Finally, his arm froze, his body trembling with the effort to contain his fury. After an agonizing eternity he lowered his fist.

Sophie glanced at Taylor, who lay unconscious on the floor. She cautiously loosened her clutch on Simon’s shoulders and stepped away, ready to throw herself on him again if necessary. A final shudder rippled across his back, and he rose, turning slowly to face her. Their gazes met, and she gasped.

His stark features were drawn into a tight mask, but his eyes held a mix of raw emotions—rage, fear, and something else. Something wild and elusive. It seemed as if a veil had been ripped aside and the man she thought she knew—cool, calculating, and always in control—had vanished forever. It frightened her, but the desperate intensity she read in his gaze also filled her with an earth-shattering joy.

“I thought you were dead. I thought he had killed you.” His voice was so low and harsh she barely recognized it.

“I thought you wouldn’t come in time,” she quavered, attempting a smile.

He moved then, pulling her into an embrace so fierce that her ribs felt smashed into her lungs. She could barely breathe, but she didn’t care.

“I’ll always come for you, Sophie. Never doubt it.”

His voice shook, and she broke into a sobbing laugh as she buried her face into his smooth waistcoat.

“I should have known,” she whispered as she snuggled against him. Of course he had reached her in time. He always did.

He let out a steady stream of low curses as he crushed her in his arms. She ignored them, letting the terror and shock of the last hour flow away as she inhaled the scent of healthy male and spilled beer. She sank against him, seeking his warmth, relishing the feel of his powerful body enveloping her.

After a few minutes he gently pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length as he gave her a rapid but thorough inspection. The black anger in his deep-set eyes had begun to fade, although heat flared when his gaze fell on the cut on her cheek.

“Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”

“My face is sore, but I’m otherwise unharmed.”

He nodded, but his eyes narrowed, his expression turning cool and opaque. Sophie blinked at the sudden change. It felt as if he had slammed a door in her face.

“Why did you disobey me, Sophie?” His voice turned as hard as his eyes.

She stared at him, bewildered by the stern, almost judgmental look on his face.

“Simon, I’ll explain everything when we get home, but we must find Becky. That horrible woman took her away.”

“Becky is fine. Soames and Russell have her safe in the ale room.”

“Oh, thank God.” She sagged against him, weak with relief. “You’d better check on poor James. Taylor hit him very hard.”

Simon made an impatient sound as he released her. She shivered, missing his warmth the instant he let her go.

He stalked over to James and crouched down on the floor beside him, gently turning the footman’s bruised face to the light. “How long has he been out?”

She opened her mouth to answer when a tall, spare-looking man, dressed plainly in black, strode into the room. He cast an assessing glance over her before looking at Simon. “My lord, do you need assistance?”

“Thank you, no, Russell. Taylor has been disposed of.”

Russell’s mouth twitched as he perused the barkeeper splayed on the floor. “So I see. You should know that your man has sent the boy to fetch the watch. In the meantime, we have locked the woman away until the law arrives.”

James moaned and began to stir. Sophie expelled a sigh of relief. The poor fellow had been down for so long she had begun to fear he would never wake up.

Russell switched his gaze to Sophie and gave her a brief nod. “You are Miss Stanton, I presume.” His voice sounded heavy with disapproval.

“Yes, I am,” she said, wondering at his tone. She curtsied, suddenly aware of how dishevelled and dirty she must look. “Thank you for coming to my aid, sir.”

She gave him a grateful smile, but to no effect. He studied her with a somber expression on his long face before turning his back on her.

Her smile wavered. After everything she had been through tonight, his rudeness shouldn’t have stung, but it did. Her cheeks grew hot as an all-too-familiar sense of humiliation crept through her.

“Russell, I’d be grateful if you would ask Soames to step back to the storeroom,” Simon said over his shoulder. “I promise you won’t have to remain in this vile place much longer.”

“Of course, my lord. I’ll wait in the ale room for the watchman.”

He brushed past Sophie on his way out the door. She stared after him, astounded by his behaviour.

“Simon, why was Mr. Russell so rude to me?”

He gave her a searing look. “Hell, Sophie, the man’s a Methodist. Can you imagine how he feels coming into this disgusting pit? I had to ask him to help rescue my betrothed from a pair of thieving whoremongers. God knows what he must think of me—and of you.”

By now, Simon had helped James struggle into a sitting position. The footman’s skin was tinged an odd shade of pea green and one side of his face had swelled up with an ugly bruise, but he seemed to be coming to his senses. He swayed as Simon hauled him to his feet. Sophie rushed over to lend support, and they helped him sit on an overturned crate.

James stifled a groan, then fixed an anxious gaze on Sophie. “Miss, are you all right?”

“Yes, James, you needn’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

Simon muttered something under his breath, shaking his head.

“Lord Trask,” James ventured, looking as if he were about to face the executioner, “I beg you to forgive me for allowing this to happen, but”—he glanced up at Sophie—“I didn’t think I had a choice.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, James,” Simon replied, casting a dark look her way.

She bristled at his expression, but reminded herself that Simon must still be grappling with the residue of shock and anger. She bit back the retort that sprang to her lips, determined to retain the last shreds of her patience.

“You’re not to worry about a thing, James,” she said, patting the footman on the shoulder. “I’ll speak to Lady Eleanor myself. Everything will be—”

Simon cut her off. “You’ll do nothing of the sort, Sophie. In fact, from now on I expect you to button your lip and let me handle this. You’re in enough trouble as it is. There is nothing you could do or say that would help James or anyone else.”

She froze, her cheeks flushing with a sudden heat. Before she could respond to Simon’s outrageous comments, Russell and Soames walked into the room. Soames’s eyes, full of concern, came to rest on her.

“Miss Stanton, I’m very glad to see you unharmed.”

She gave him a grateful smile. At least one person in the room still retained full possession of his manners.

“Lord Trask,” he said, “Mr. Russell will take James home in the hackney. I think it might be best if they were to leave now, while the watchman is busy and before the constable arrives.” He gave Simon a knowing look.

Simon nodded brusquely. “Can you stand, James?”

“Aye, my lord. Don’t worry about me.” The footman grimaced as Russell helped him to his feet.

“Russell,” Simon said, extending his hand, “I can’t thank you enough. You have my enduring gratitude.”

Russell took Simon’s hand in a brief clasp before helping James from the room.

“My lord,” continued Soames. “There is no reason for you and Miss Stanton to remain. I’ll finish up here. And I’ll make certain that neither the watchman nor the constable mentions Miss Stanton’s name in the report to the justice. With a little luck, we’ll prevent anyone from knowing she was here. At least officially.”

Sophie was about to ask how he could manage that, but the look on Simon’s face made her swallow the question.

“I’ll see you at my lodgings when you’re finished,” Simon replied.

“As you wish, my lord. I would also suggest you and Miss Stanton leave by way of the alley. The other hackney is still waiting down the street.”

“Christ! Thank you for stating the obvious, Soames. Of course I’m going to take her out through the alley.”

Sophie winced at Simon’s sarcastic tone. His relief at seeing her more or less unhurt had obviously evaporated, replaced by an exceedingly ugly mood. Simon in a temper was never a good thing—for anyone.

Soames ignored his employer’s retort with commendable dignity.

“I’ll bid you good night, Miss Stanton. I hope you suffer no ill effects from your ordeal.”

“Thank you, sir. For all your help.”

Soames left and, except for Taylor, still unconscious on the floor, they were alone. The intense quiet was sudden and unnerving.

Simon’s eyes began to narrow again, and a muscle in his jaw started twitching. She repressed a sigh. The only thing she wished for right now was to go home, take a bath, and crawl into bed. It would appear, however, that she would have to endure a dressing-down from Simon first. Best to try and head it off before it commenced.

“Well, Simon,” she said, giving him a placating smile, “all’s well that ends well.”

He stared at her, disbelief writ large on his face.

“If you believe that, Sophie, then you are an idiot—someone who can’t be trusted to tell the truth to the man she claims to love, or to keep herself out of trouble.”

Shock slammed through her. “‘Claims to love’? What are you talking about?”

“Do you have any idea how big a problem you’ve caused?” he shot back, ignoring her question. His anger flared up like smoldering embers bursting into flame. “You promised you wouldn’t come back here without me. By breaking that promise, you betrayed my trust and deliberately put yourself in danger. You could’ve been killed.”

“But I wasn’t. Toby and Mary found you in time—”

“Barely,” he snapped. “They spent precious minutes in the kitchen at The Pelican arguing with a fool of a waiter who refused to let them in. You should be eternally grateful that Toby had the wits to break free and run through the inn looking for me. Can you imagine the commotion that caused? Who might have seen him? And I don’t even want to describe Russell’s reaction when a dirty little street urchin broke into our dining room.”

Sophie fought to choke back her rising anger. “Simon, any person would have done what I did. When a child’s life—”

He cut in. “Any person? Who among our acquaintances would allow themselves to be drawn into something like this, Sophie? Most people I know would be appalled by your behavior.”

“I don’t care about most people,” she retorted. “I only care about you—that you would think and feel as I do about—”

He interrupted her with a short, bitter laugh. “If thinking like you requires me to be naïve and foolish, then I thank God I’m nothing like you.”

She flinched, but he ruthlessly carried on.

“After tonight, God knows why I still want to marry you. You’ll cause me nothing but trouble. For some strange reason, however, I do. But you need to understand, Sophie, that our lives will be led on my terms, and my terms alone.”

“Simon, you must understand. I couldn’t wait. I had to try to save Becky,” she pleaded, shocked by how desperate she sounded. How could Simon treat her like this? How could he fail to see she had made a life-and-death decision?

His sensual mouth thinned into a hard line. “You should have sent for me and remained at home instead of racing down here like an impetuous fool. You put James’s life in danger as well as your own.”