The Reluctant Countess (11 page)

Sitting on the side of her bed, she looked at the package. A shiver ran the length of her spine as she studied the spiky, uneven handwriting. It was familiar to her, yet she could not recall where she had seen it before and for some reason Sophie was terrified of what she would find inside. Pulling one of the ties, she slowly unwrapped it.

“No!” The cry flew from her lips as she looked at the piece of white fabric. Touching it with a trembling finger, Sophie felt her stomach roll. How was it possible? Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she searched the folds for what she sought, and turning over one of the long ties she read the initials S.B. A small square of paper was tucked inside. She looked at it for several seconds and then, smoothing the note, she read the words.

“I know who you are Sophie Beams and I will make you pay for your deceit. Tell no one and wait for my next note.”

Sophie raced to the small bowl on her nightstand and threw up her lunch. Retching until there was nothing left, she rinsed her mouth and retraced her steps, this time lying flat on her bed. After losing her innocence this morning to Lord Coulter and now this, her insides were a quivering mess. Someone knew who she was and she had an idea who that someone was. The note had said not to tell anyone and she would not take the risk of speaking with Letty until she knew just what the sender of
this package wanted from her. Letty would be consumed with unearthing the culprit, as there was little doubting it was a prelude to blackmail. What other reason could anyone have to send her her old apron? She felt nausea rise again; her very existence was about to come tumbling down around her ears.

“Oh Letty, I knew it was too good to be true,” Sophie whispered, reaching for one of her pillows. Hugging it close, she wondered how Letty would cope with the exposure. How would she feel once society, which she loved to be part of, turned their collective backs on her and Sophie, shunning them both. Sophie cared nothing for herself; in fact, what had taken place with Lord Coulter this very day proved she was no longer fit to be in society. Some widows indulged in discreet liaisons with gentlemen of the ton, yet she was no widow, and now Lord Coulter knew that fact. What if she were to fall pregnant? Was it a possibility after making love only once? Burying her face in the pillow, Sophie let the tears fall. What was she going to do?

Sophie Beams was someone she had worked hard to put behind her. The housemaid with no future, just endless hours of backbreaking work from dawn till dusk. Closing her eyes, she felt a wave of exhaustion thinking about the evening ahead. She would have to pull on her best and most haughty demeanor to fool everyone, and use all her skills to avoid the Earl of Coulter, for only he seemed to be able to rattle the usually ice-cold façade of the countess. He would want answers to the questions that even now must be filling his head, but Sophie had none for him. To explain would only complicate matters, so she must instead ignore him.

Then there was the blackmailer. When would he next show his hand? Could Jack Spode be behind this? He was more than capable. But would he come to London to get her like he had vowed when she had run from him so long ago?

It was a relief when her eyes grew heavy; she sighed as the sweet oblivion of sleep finally overtook her. Sophie’s last thought was that maybe she could take the full force of her exposure and Letty could be spared, just an innocent party in Sophie’s trickery.

* * *

Patrick rolled his eyes as Stephen mimicked Sir Milton Hapforth’s lisping drawl into his ear.

“ ’Tith thorely a beautific day, my lordths.”

“ ’Tis a most unbecoming trait to find faults in others when your own are so vast,” Patrick said, his eyes searching the other boxes for Sophie.

“The man’s a blithering idiot.” Stephen fell into one of the seats at the front of Patrick’s box. “Good God, did you see what he was wearing?”

“Yes, he is surely color blind,” Patrick said absently. Where the hell was she? He knew for certain she was to attend the theater tonight; Lady Carstairs had let it slip.

“You would think his friends would tell him that he is making a cake of himself.”

“Friends?” Patrick queried.

Stephen snorted. “True, Brownleigh and Dapples are complete fools, both struggling to form a single working brain between them.”

“Well,” Patrick drawled, still looking around the boxes. “I am not always honest with you.”

“What!”

Patrick hid his smile at Stephen’s bellow. It came as naturally as breathing to both men, this constant ribbing of each other.

“I have never dressed in anything other than sartorial elegance,” Stephen vehemently declared looking down at his midnight superfine jacket with matching midnight and burgundy waistcoat.

“As you say,” was all Patrick said, but it was enough.

“At least I do not dress as though I am in a constant state of mourning!”

“I dress conservatively, Sumner. Unlike you, I have no driving need to be the constant focus of all attention.”

“Conservatively! Old Squire Pillsby has more flair than you, and he’s eighty.”

Seeing a flurry of activity to his left, Patrick said, “Your mummy has arrived.”

“Lord have mercy on my blighted soul,” Stephen groaned, as two boxes along from them a group of women burst into the Sumner box. All were dressed in the height of fashion and each was talking and giggling at an alarming rate. Patrick smiled as the sounds of laughter and loud voices
reached them. Beside him Stephen slumped deeper into his seat. Patrick made a small noise that was a fairly accurate imitation of a chicken and sounded ridiculous coming from a man of his size.

“Come,” he said. “We must welcome your family.”

“Must we?”

“You are the head of your family, man. For pity’s sake, had you no family,
then
you would have cause to whine!” Patrick snapped as he lifted the curtain for Stephen to precede him from the box.

“Don’t take the moral high ground with me, Coulter. I know you only want a chance to check if your bloody countess has arrived or not.”

“Please do not swear, Stephen, I find it offensive,” Patrick needled as they walked the few paces to his box.

“Go to hell!

“Mother!” Stephen said seconds later as he entered with Patrick behind him, a smile now firmly fixed to his handsome face.

Patrick watched as Lady Sumner embraced her son. Most women touched cheeks or held out their hands, but not Lady Sumner—she hugged. Even if Patrick had seen her just a few hours before, he was still engulfed in her sweet-smelling embrace whenever they met.

The Sumner Fillies, as Patrick privately called them, were all blond, blue-eyed, and pretty. Although Lady Sumner was now more rounded in the girth, she was still striking and had many men trailing after her. She had once told Patrick that while it was flattering, she could never replace her dear departed Herbert. Patrick didn’t understand this devotion, as his own parents had never shown any sign of caring for each other.

Stephen managed to pull back from his parent’s clutches only to be engulfed by his three sisters, each a beauty in her own right. Lucinda, Maia, and Jennifer, each with a trail of admirers, and Lucinda was already engaged to Lord Palmerton. They all smoothed their brother’s coat and tousled his hair. Each loved him openly and he in turn did the same. The act he put on for Patrick was just
that. Stephen would give his life for every member of his family. Their care fell to him and he never shirked in his duties.

“Come here, Patrick.”

Patrick moved into the welcoming arms of Lady Sumner and allowed her to hug him. She was the only one he allowed this close, and she never let him go until she was ready. When he first encountered her, he had stood as still as a large piece of oak, unused to all this kissing and hugging. Now, however, he just enjoyed the sensation of being loved.

* * *

Sophie was quite literally glued to the spot as she watched Lord Coulter accepting a hug from the large lady in the box across from her. She had never seen him so demonstrative in public. Indeed she had seen him hold no one close.
Well, except for me, that is
, Sophie thought, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

“Letty, who is that?”

“Who, dear?”

“There,” Sophie pointed across the theater. “That box filled with blond women. Who is hugging the earl?”

“Ah, Lady Sumner.” Letty smiled. “She is Viscount Sumner’s mother and the three young ladies are his sisters. Lovely woman, absolutely delightful. I will introduce you in the interval, dear,” she added, patting Sophie’s hand and turning once again to converse with Beatrice, who had accompanied them for the evening.

Sophie wanted to pull her eyes away from Lord Coulter and look at the people mingling below, but she could not. Even when he was not looking at her, he drew her eyes. She couldn’t see his whole face, only the flash of white as he offered the ladies a smile. Sophie was uncomfortable with the jolt of jealousy she felt, seeing him with the other women.
I should loathe and detest you for what took place in your carriage today, and yet I am drawn to you
, she thought, confused by the conflicting emotions that battled inside her.

“Would you care for a drink, Countess?”

“No, thank you, Lord Tilton,” Sophie dragged her eyes from Lord Coulter and the bevy of blondes. She tried not to drink in public, as it often ended up spilled down her front, plus she got tipsy very quickly, and now more than ever she needed to keep her wits about her.

“Is this your first trip to the theater this season, Countess?”

Sophie stiffened as Lord Tilton pulled his chair so close their thighs brushed. She wished Letty had not accepted this invitation to share his box; she had no liking for the man.

“Yes, my lord,” she said moving to the edge of her chair.

“Then you must allow me to help guide you through the wonderful sights and sounds that are about to unfold.” He patted her gloved hands where they lay in her lap.

Sophie said nothing; her best defense had always been to show as little interest as possible in the men who chose to pursue her; hence the ice maiden title.

“You smell as sweet as my mother’s rose bower, Countess.” Lord Tilton leaned sideways to bury his nose in her hair.

* * *

“Did you growl, Colt?” said Stephen, once again sinking into his seat and readjusting his necktie, which had been seriously abused by his sisters. Lifting a gloved hand, he acknowledged the froth of young women who smiled and waved at him.

Ignoring Stephen, Patrick kept his eyes focused on Sophie. She was uncomfortable with Tilton’s advances; he watched the ice maiden reappear as she lifted that delicate little chin, he just bet her eyes would chill even the warmest summer’s day.

“Just make sure you leave his thumb and forefinger unbroken; a nobleman must be able to sign his papers and drink his libations, Colt,” Stephen drawled, watching his friend’s hands clench.

“What!”

“Tilton,” Stephen said, nodding to where Sophie sat, still as a statue. “I think he is forcing his attentions on your countess.”

“Shut up!” Patrick fought the sudden urge to stalk into the box and pummel Tilton, then seize Sophie in his arms and leave. Bloody hell, he rarely lost control, and never in public.

“Ho, is that the honorable Earl of Coulter I hear?”

“Joseph!” Stephen said as Lord Hanley entered the box. He was an old acquaintance of both Patrick and Stephen’s, and Patrick had asked him to join them this evening. “Come join me, I am trying calm our large friend, as I fear he has blood in his eyes,” Stephen said, motioning to a chair to his left.

“How so?” asked Lord Hanley, eyeing Patrick as he took the offered seat.

“I will close your mouth permanently, Sumner, if you utter one more word.”

Stephen, more than happy with his friend’s reaction to his taunting, closed his mouth and settled down to talk with Joseph, thereby allowing Patrick to brood.

Sophie sat like a statue as Tilton tried to converse with her, and Patrick knew now that this was how she dealt with unwelcome advances. He could see the tension in her shoulders and something inside him tightened at the vulnerability that obviously lay beneath the chilly façade. Even before he had forced himself on her and discovered her innocence, he had come to realize that she was no charlatan. Now, instead of exposing her to society, he wanted to take her as his own. Visions of her straddling his thighs had tormented him for hours. When next they made love, he would lay her beneath him and kiss every inch of her body until her eyes once again filled with sensual heat and then … “Damn I’m in trouble,” he muttered, adjusting his coat.

“Come, Colt, sit, the show is about to start,” Joseph said, waving to the seat beside him.

* * *

Sophie was pleased when the play started; she had never been to the theater. Although she had the fear of the blackmailer and what had happened to her in Lord Coulter’s coach to worry over, for now she planned to enjoy this moment. After all, it could be her one and only chance. Wriggling away from the pressure of Lord Tilton’s thigh once again, she moved forward to look at the stage below. Holding her breath, she watched the curtains draw slowly back to expose a beautiful red-haired lady, and from the first note she sang, Sophie was entranced. She laughed and cried at the antics that played out before her, but not once did she turn away. When Lord Tilton tried to capture
her attention, she remained stubbornly focused on the stage until the curtain fell to indicate the end of act one.

“I will take the countess for a walk, Lady Carstairs,” Lord Tilton declared, without asking Sophie if she wanted to be escorted anywhere. She opened her mouth to refuse and then thought—if I am with Lord Tilton, neither Lord Coulter nor the blackmailer can get me alone.

With a regal nod, just like Letty had taught her, Sophie allowed Lord Tilton to take her hand. Soon they were mingling with other theatergoers and with each step they took, Sophie felt some of her tension ease. Perhaps for tonight, Lord Coulter would leave her alone.

“Tilton!”

Viscount Sumner approached with his blue eyes twinkling and Sophie couldn’t help but return the smile. She had noticed a thawing in his attitude toward her of late, and he had come to her aid when Myles had become overzealous one evening.