The Reluctant Countess (16 page)

She crept down the stairs as quietly as she could and went into the front parlor. Removing the sturdy poker from beside the fireplace, Sophie opened the front door and walked out into the cold London night. Pulling up the hood of her cloak, she hurried down the stairs and made her way along the deserted street.

Sophie’s heart was pounding painfully in her chest as she worked her way quickly and quietly toward the Earl of Coulter’s residence. Occasionally a carriage would clatter by and she would merge into the shadows until it passed, her hands gripping the solid weight of the bar in case she needed to use it to defend herself. Nothing would stop her from getting help for Timmy and Mary.

“Dear God, Timmy!” she cried, as tears threatened to cloud her vision. At least they had taken Mary, too; Timmy’s nanny was a stout, strong woman who would make sure the little boy was safe until Sophie could find him. And she would find him. She had promised her mother that she would keep Timmy safe, and she would not renege on that promise now.

Narrowly missing the back of a stationary coach, Sophie moved deeper into the shadows as she heard the door swing open. She did not wait to see who stepped down, as surely they would be either inebriated or returning from some late-night activity. There was no way Sophie could afford to be seen or stopped; her brother and Mary’s life depended on it. She never wavered in her decision, even though she knew that what she was about to do would surely ruin both hers and Letty’s reputations.

She would have to tell him everything, the truth. She had made this choice rather than seeking Letty’s help, because he would know instantly what to do. Patrick might be angry with her, but his deep integrity and morals would make him help find Timmy and Mary, of this Sophie had no doubt.

Cold began to seep into her bones, but Sophie ran on. It felt as though she had been out here alone in the dark for hours, and in truth she had no idea of the time.
Was that the right street?
Sophie squinted; the gas lamps did not light the whole street and created an eerie feeling, making the shadows seem sinister. Having driven by Patrick’s house only once before with Letty, Sophie was terrified she would never find it again. Undecided, she stopped to look around her. Surely that was the house of Lord Baker up ahead; she had accompanied Letty there several times when she came to sit with the ailing Lady Baker. Sophie’s sides began to burn as she started running down the street. She had to get to him, he would help her to get Timmy back safe, she knew he would, he just had to.

Sophie had no idea how long she ran, but finally she found the street Patrick lived on. The houses were grand and spaced some distance apart; Patrick’s was the grandest, with large columns
and several floors. Running up the stone steps, she lowered the poker to the ground and pounded on the enormous solid-looking door. Just when Sophie thought she was going to have to start yelling or run around the back to the servants’ entrance, the door opened.

“Who are you?”

She took several deep breaths, trying to still the thumping in her chest. The butler had thrown on his jacket and pants with some haste, as the former was buttoned in a haphazard fashion.

“I need Lord Coulter, please wake him now!” Sophie gasped, clutching her side as a sharp pain sliced through her.

“He has no use for a woman like you,” the butler said, looking her up and down, his lip curling slightly. She watched in horror as he began to close the door.

“No!” Sophie screamed, and placing both hands on the door, she pushed with all her strength. The butler stumbled back and she rushed inside. Desperate, heart thumping, she looked around the entranceway and then, cupping both hands around her mouth, she yelled with the last of her energy.

“Patrick!”

“I will have you put in irons, young lady, if you do not leave at once!” the butler roared. This time he had completely recovered his wits and was looking furious.

Sophie knew she had seconds before he picked her up and removed her, so she shouted again.

“Patrick!”

“What the hell is going on, Fletcher!”

“Patrick!” Sophie cried, looking to the top of the stairs before her, where he now stood wearing only a pair of trousers. Lifting the hem of her nightgown, she ran, flying up the stairs, and threw herself into his arms.

“Sophie?” Patrick said, as he instinctively caught her and then closed his arms around her shaking form. She was incoherent, alternately babbling words and drenching his chest with a torrent of hot tears.

“My lord?” Fletcher said.

“Make tea and stoke the fire in my study, Fletcher,” Patrick said.

“What the hell is all the bloody noise? Can a man not expect a peaceful sleep?” Stephen groused from behind Patrick. “Christ, is that Sophie?”

“She just arrived in this state and I have no idea yet as to why,” Patrick said. “Get dressed and meet me downstairs,” he added and then picked Sophie up and carried her into his room.

Sitting her on his bed, he quickly lit several candles and pulled on his dressing gown. Finding a blanket, he wrapped it around her. Lifting her back into his arms, Patrick sat on the edge of the bed and settled her on his lap. She threw her arms around his body and buried her face in his chest as if she would never let him go.

He had not seen Sophie since Lord and Lady Shubert’s garden party. His guilt had steadily risen as she had not attended any of the social events the ton frequented over the past few evenings, and he had decided that tomorrow he would seek her out and apologize, explain why he had kept silent after their lovemaking.

He let her cry, just holding her close, giving her his strength. She was so cold, shivers racked her body. Pushing the folds of her cloak aside, he noticed she still wore her nightclothes. What the hell was going on?

Soon her cries eased to sniffles. Unclasping her hands from his waist, Patrick lifted her chin and brushed a kiss on her chilled lips. “Speak to me, Sophie.” Seeing the terror written deep in the depths of her beautiful eyes made his gut clench. Her breath came in gasps intermingled with small pitiful sobs. If he did not know better, he would have said she had run from halfway across London to reach him.

“Please, sweetheart,” he urged gently stroking one cold cheek. “I cannot help you if you do not tell me what has happened,” Patrick said, and this time he put more force into his voice.

“T-Timmy is g-gone, Patrick.”

“Gone where?”

“S-someone has taken him, and it is my fault,” Sophie whispered. “I-I should have kn-known, anticipated … I have put him in danger. I kn … knew it was wrong, I-I …”

Patrick waited for her to continue, knowing that what she was about to tell him was what had driven him to pursue her when he had first laid eyes on her. Her secrets were about to be revealed.

“I-I have lied to you, Patrick,” Sophie confessed, looking up at him. Everything would change now. He would help her find Timmy, she never doubted that, but he would never look at her the same, never want to hold her again.

“From the beginning, Sophie. I want to hear everything, every detail,” Patrick said, pulling her closer as she tried to slip from his lap.

“Whoever has taken Timmy knows about my past,” Sophie said, and then she began to tell him the story of Sophie Beams.

“My father was a-a man who found his money by whatever means he could, legal or illegal, and my mother took in sewing.”

Patrick handed her a handkerchief as she sniffed. She took it and blew her nose loudly, then attempted a wobbly smile as she handed it back to him. Even disheveled, pale-faced, with her hair falling all over the place, she was still beautiful to him.

“I was a maid for the Earl of Monmouth and Letty. I-I could read; my mother did the cleaning and sewing for a lady who had retired from society and that lady taught me to read and write, and the
basics of etiquette as payment. My mother had hopes that this would elevate my station in life,” Sophie said with a small sigh.

“I often read the newspaper to the earl when his man was busy, and sometimes a story from one of his favorite books. We became friends of a sort,” she said. “He would confide in me about his concerns for Letty after his death and his doubts in Myles’s ability to become the Earl of Monmouth. I never ventured an opinion,” Sophie rushed to add, shooting Patrick another look. She tried once again to slip off his lap before he threw her off in disgust, but his arms held her firmly against his chest.

“I found Letty crying one day. She had often spoken to me, and sometimes I was her maid when hers was sick or away. She said that Myles was to inherit shortly and she would never see her beloved Monmouth again. She would be forced to leave society because Myles would hold the purse strings.”

Sophie swallowed several times. She had to finish her story; Patrick needed to know everything if he were to have any chance of getting Timmy back. He was so quiet, never questioning her, just holding her in his arms. Surely he must now loathe her, a mere servant who had fooled society?

“All of it, Sophie,” Patrick said when she grew quiet.

“Two days later, my father took ill with fever. My mother urged me to get Timmy out of the house, so I asked Letty if I could bring him to Monmouth just for a short period of time, and she said yes.”

Patrick watched the memories come and go across Sophie’s face.

“They both died, my mother and father, and I was left with Timmy to care for.”

Patrick took the small square of linen and mopped up her tears.

“The Earl of Monmouth had grown weaker, we were told he would not last the week, and it was then that he and Letty put their heads together.”

She was talking faster now, rushing through the last part of her story, and Patrick listened intently.

“We were married two hours before he died,” Sophie said and Patrick felt another warm tear hit his hand.

“Letty taught me to be a lady and then we came to London,” she finished in a whisper.

“Tell me of Timmy now,” Patrick asked.

“I got the first letter and my old apron over a month ago, then Timmy’s small bonnet came next,” Sophie said, her voice husky after her tears. Without thought, she reached for one of his hands and gripped it tightly with both of her own.

“I am here, sweetheart,” Patrick said, then brushed a kiss through her hair.

“Why are y-you being so nice, now that you kn-know? N-now that all your earlier f-fears are confirmed.”

“Finish your story, Sophie. We will have plenty of time to talk later.”

“The notes never ask for anything, no money or jewelry,” Sophie said, a small line appearing between her brows as she frowned.

“I woke up suddenly tonight, something had disturbed me, and I rushed to look out of my window. There was a carriage and I could hear a woman yelling and a child’s cry.” She looked at Patrick then. “It was Timmy and his nanny, Patrick. And he was crying for me,” she added.

Holding her shoulders, Patrick forced her to face him.

“Who do you believe has him, Sophie? I know you must have some idea.”

“I-I can think of only one man,” she whispered. “I thought about it as I ran here.”

“You ran here!” Patrick closed his eyes. “In your nightclothes?” Visions of her being abducted and dragged into some seedy alleyway, where she could have been raped and murdered, filled his head. He might never have seen her again, and that thought alone scared the breath from his body. “Never ever do that again, is that understood, Sophie?” he said in a tightly controlled voice. Although he was now resigned to the multitude of emotions this woman made him feel, he was disgusted to note that his hands were trembling.

“Yes.” Sophie nodded her head several times so he would know she understood. Climbing off his lap she regained her feet and turned to look at him.

“Hell, anything could have happened to you and I would never have known,” he added, although this time his voice was calmer.

“I had no other choice.”

“It’s called a
carriage
, Sophie.”

“It would have taken too long, waiting for it to be prepared.”

He knew she was right, but that didn’t ease the feeling of dread over what might have been. Breathing deeply, he stood and drew her close to his chest, needing to feel her body against his. She was here; she was safe. She was brave, his Sophie, fierce in her protection of Timmy. Not for one second had she given her own danger a thought as she ran through the streets of London. Patrick did not have time to analyze how good he felt about her turning instinctively to him when she needed help.

“Come, we will go downstairs and speak with Stephen,” he said, once he had himself back under control. Taking her hand in his, he led her from the room.

Stephen was also dressed in his robe and trousers, although his was bright blue with burgundy trim.

Fletcher brought in tea and Sophie gave him a small smile as she walked toward him. He had straightened his clothes and his hair was now brushed flat.

“Please accept my apologies, Fletcher. I am afraid I had no other choice but to force my way into Lord Coulter’s house.” She touched his hand briefly.

Patrick gave Stephen a wry look as Fletcher flushed to the roots of his gray hair and mumbled his thanks, then tripped over the rug as he left the room. He knew what it was like to be the recipient of one of Sophie’s smiles.

“Amazing,” Stephen said. “Fletcher has never shown that sort of reaction to my apologies.”

Patrick snorted, then ushered Sophie into a seat before the fire.

“Tell Stephen your story, sweetheart,” Patrick said.

“But …”

Patrick knew what she asked of him, saw the question in her eyes.

“I would trust him with my life. Plus I would break all his limbs if he said a word of what you are about to tell him to anyone,” he added and was pleased to see her smile.

“We have been through this before, Patrick.” Stephen sighed, then he winked at Sophie. “It would behoove you to remember who handed out the last thrashing to whom.”

“I was ten,” Patrick drawled.

Sophie could not imagine having such a close friend, and for so many years. These two cared for each other deeply, and she was suddenly pleased that Patrick had someone like that in his life.