The Reluctant Countess (31 page)

He saw her then, trailing her fingers through a small waterfall, and as Stephen drew closer he realized she was crying. Stephen knew tears; with all of his sisters he’d grown up with gallons of them. What he hadn’t expected was the rage that flooded his body that someone had made Amelia sad.

“Who made you cry?”

Amelia spun around gasping. “St … Lord Sumner, you scared me!” she cried, stumbling backward.

Stephen reached for her as she toppled toward the water. Pulling her forward, he held her against his chest. “Amelia,” he breathed into her hair, “tell me why you are crying.”

Amelia cried harder. Having Stephen hold her like this was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Her mother had never offered this sort of comfort; Amelia had never even sat on her knee as a child, and now she realized what she had missed. Having another person hold you close, as if you were the most precious thing in the world to them, was quite simply exquisite.

He felt her fingers clutch his lapels, pulling him closer. She wanted his comfort, seemed to need his strength. Stephen held her, and tucking her head under his chin, he ran one hand up and down her back in soft strokes, and the other he slipped under her hair to cradle her neck. His sisters had liked to be surrounded when they were crying; he hoped Amelia was the same. Soon her cries eased and became sniffles, until finally she was quiet with just the occasional hitch in her breath.

“You may let me go now, my lord,” Amelia said, her words sounding wobbly from all the crying.

“Stephen,” he corrected, pulling her closer.

“Stephen,” Amelia parroted, then once again rested her head on his broad chest; she really did not have the strength to pull away.

“Why are you crying, Amelia?”

She wouldn’t lie to him—indeed she did not want to lie to him. With Stephen, she wanted to speak only the truth.

“My mother thinks I am Satan’s whore and that I am being led down a path of ill repute by my jezebel friend, Sophie.” She took a deep breath and inhaled the intoxicating man before her. He smelled so nice; sort of spicy. Amelia had never known her father and so she had nothing to compare Stephen with, yet she was sure his smell was uniquely his.

“And you believed her?” Stephen asked, trying to put his mind anywhere but on the soft woman in his arms.

“No, but it hurt.”

“She will come around, sweetheart,” Stephen said. “Half of London is still reeling from your change, so I should imagine your mother is also struggling to cope with your sudden popularity.”

“If she saw me now, it would merely confirm her belief.” Amelia’s giggle sounded rusty, but it was a giggle.

Stephen snorted and reluctantly let her go, but only so far; he still held her by the shoulders.

“You, Miss Amelia Pette, are sweet, innocent, and far too beautiful for my peace of mind. I have met a few Satan’s whores in my time and you, love, could never be one.”

“You should not be speaking to me with such familiarity, my lord,” Amelia replied, hearing her mother’s voice in her head.

“Why not, my sweet Amelia?” Stephen said, his eyes sparkling wickedly as he pulled her closer.

“Because,” Amelia whispered, then lost all thought as he lowered his head and kissed her.

* * *

Sophie slept for the rest of the day and into the night. She missed dinner and missed all the visitors who popped their heads into the room to check on her. In fact, she didn’t even wake when Patrick climbed into bed beside her later that evening; she just turned toward him and smiled in her sleep, then sighed as he slipped his arm around her.

She woke about three hours later. Her mouth was dry and her arm throbbing because it was trapped underneath her body. Patrick was breathing heavily beside her, indicating that he was in a deep sleep, and Sophie had no wish to wake him, so she climbed quietly from the bed. The room was dark, with only a faint glow from the fire to show her the way. Pulling on her dressing gown, she sought but failed to find any signs of food or drink. Looking at the lump in the bed that was her husband and then at the door, Sophie wondered if she could make it to the kitchens and back without Patrick waking up. Grabbing her sling, she slipped it over her shoulder. At least if he woke and found her gone, he would be happier if he knew she had on her sling, surely? Luckily the door did not squeak as she opened and closed it. Finding a candle and holder on a stand outside, she lit it, trying not to move her arm too much, then headed toward the kitchens. After a couple of false starts, she finally found the stairs and slowly walked down into Mrs. Gumbrill’s domain.

The kitchens were in darkness; only a red glow from the range lit her path, so Sophie lifted her candle. Imagine how angry Patrick would be if she hurt her shoulder while raiding the pantry for a snack. She tried to muffle the small laugh that threatened at the vision of her husband raging at her.

“My lady!”

“Oh!” Sophie gasped as she turned to see Mrs. Gumbrill with a large rolling pin held high over her head.

“You should have wrung the bell, my lady,” Mrs. Gumbrill said, lowering the rolling pin to a long scrubbed bench.

“I … I did not want to wake anyone,” Sophie stuttered.

“Well, I suspect you’re hungry,” Mrs. Gumbrill said, moving to light a lamp. “What with sleeping through your supper and having a hole in your arm.”

Sophie did not want to decipher why having a hole in her arm would make her hungry, so she said, “There is no need to go to any trouble, Mrs. Gumbrill, you just head back to bed and I will find something.”

“Nonsense.” The cook took Sophie’s candle, pulled forward a chair, and gently pushed her mistress into it. “Since Mr. Gumbrill passed, I don’t do a lot of sleeping.”

Sophie knew when she was beaten, so she sat and watched. Mrs. Gumbrill had her hair in a starched white nightcap and wore a large dressing gown made up of several yards of blue fabric, around which she wrapped her apron.

“Are you thirsty, my lady?”

Sophie nodded but stayed seated; Mrs. Gumbrill was already pouring her a glass of milk.

“Best thing for you at the moment,” she said, handing Sophie the glass. “Help build your strength back up.”

* * *

She wasn’t in the bed. Patrick pulled on his robe and tied the sash. Where the hell was Sophie? Surely if she needed something she would have woken him?

“Sophie,” he called as he walked into her room, but she was not in there either. He knew she had to be safe. How something could have happened to her here with him lying beside her and every door and window in the place locked tight was inconceivable. He knew all this, but he still felt terrified. His heart pounded and the blood in his veins had turned to ice at the prospect of Jack Spode getting his hands on his wife.

Walking through the house, Patrick tried to find signs of Sophie, anything to alleviate the tension that was gripping him, and then he saw it—the door that led down to the kitchens was open. Quietly, he made his way down the stairs. If Jack Spode had somehow gotten into his house, he wanted to surprise him. And then kill him, Patrick vowed silently.

“Well as to that, my lady, Mr. Gumbrill and I were married for near enough thirty years before he was taken from me. We were blessed with three children; they all live in the village except for Billy, who works for a doctor and his family in London.”

Patrick slumped against the wall as he heard Mrs. Gumbrill’s voice and then Sophie ask another question. She was safe and sitting in the kitchens.

“Do you have any grandchildren, Mrs. Gumbrill?” Sophie asked, although her words sounded muffled, almost like she was talking with her mouth full of food.

“Five, my lady, three boys and two girls, sweet young things they are, too. I see them as often as I’m able.”

“Did you not think that perhaps I might wake and find you gone?” Patrick said, walking further into the kitchens. Now that he knew Sophie was safe, he could feel the bite of anger.

“Patrick!”

“My lord!”

She was sitting in a chair with her feet curled underneath her and a glass of milk in her hand and a plate sprinkled with crumbs on the table before her. With tousled curls around her shoulders, she looked like a sweet little girl who had slipped from her bed to sneak food from the kitchen.
At least she was wearing the bloody sling
, Patrick thought.

“I was hungry,” Sophie said defensively, as she noted her husband’s clenched jaw.

“I would have got you some food,” Patrick said.

“Well, if that will be all, my lady,” Mrs. Gumbrill said as she regained her feet and left the room with a remarkable turn of speed, considering her bulk.

“Thank you,” Sophie called after her.

“Hell, Sophie! Have you any idea what I thought when I woke to find you gone?”

“You were rude to Mrs. Gumbrill,” Sophie said, still looking toward the now empty doorway.

“She’ll get over it,” Patrick snapped. “I, however, would like your assurance that you will never scare me like this again.”

“I was hungry, my lord, and felt that waking you was unnecessary as I knew my way to the kitchens,” Sophie said calmly, as her husband was obviously in the grip of a strong emotion.

“Promise me, Sophie.”

“Patrick, you’re being unreasonable. Surely I can find myself a snack without rousing the entire household?” Sophie said, exasperated at his stubbornness.

Jaw set, he stood before her, determined.

“Promise me, Sophie.”

“I will not promise you,” Sophie said, feeling her own anger rise at his high-handed manner. “You are being unreasonable, my lord. I am surely able to walk around my own house at whatever time of the day or night I choose.” Standing, Sophie tried to walk around him.

“Unreasonable!” Patrick roared. “You have a bullet hole in your arm, for Christ’s sake woman.”

“Do not curse at me!”

“I would not have to if you weren’t so bloody foolish!”

“I’m in my own house, Patrick, surely I am safe here?” Sophie’s voice had risen to meet his now.

For some reason, hearing Sophie say she should be safe in her own house enraged Patrick further, because she should be and he had failed to make it so.

“You are safe when I tell you so and not before, and you will do as I damn well say, is that understood!”

Defiant, Sophie lifted her chin but remained silent.

He stepped forward until his nose was almost pressed to hers. “I would think, given your previous line of work, you would understand how to follow orders, madam.”

Sophie felt as if he had kicked her. Tucked away deep inside her there had always been a small kernel of fear that he could never forget her past, and his last words had confirmed just that. Using her good arm, she tried to push his stomach, but the muscles beneath her fingers merely tensed and he remained unmoving. She would not cry now, not in front of him.

“I am your husband and it is my duty to protect you, wife, and it is your duty to obey me.” Silence filled the kitchen as he finished speaking; not a nice companionable silence, but a tension-filled one. Closing his eyes, Patrick squeezed the bridge of his nose hard. When had he ever spoken without thought, spoken in anger? And to do so to his wife, the woman he cared about, was inexcusable. “Sophie,” Patrick said gently, as he reached for her.

“Please do not touch me, my lord. I now understand my position in your life and will see that in the future I fulfill it.”

“Let me explain, love. I never meant to say …”

She walked away from him, head high, and marching up the stairs she disappeared before he could say another word. Disgusted with himself, Patrick went to his study and filled a glass with brandy, then sat contemplating the unlit fire. The problem was that he was terrified of something else happening to Sophie. Terrified that she would be taken from him and he would be forced to live without her, his love, his life. Swallowing the last of his drink, he once again climbed the stairs, hopeful that Sophie would be in his bed.

His bed was empty and the connecting door between their rooms was locked. Climbing between his cold sheets, Patrick lay for a long time wondering how he could fix what he had just broken, because life without Sophie in his arms, Patrick realized, would be no life at all.

* * *

“I think you should wait to tell your husband before we go to the fete, Sophie.”

“Patrick will not mind, Mellie. He has ridden over to Stephen’s; one of his horses has had a baby.”

“Foal, Sophie.”

“Foal,” Sophie repeated dutifully, then smiled as Amelia rolled her eyes.

“Letty has taken Timmy to visit with Lord Bates and his wife; they have been friends of hers for many years, but are now retired from society. According to Letty, he has a fine garden that she is eager to cast her eye over and several children who Timmy will love to play with,” Sophie added, picking up her gloves. “Then she will meet us at the fete.”

“Yes, but your arm, Sophie. Lord Coulter will be most displeased if you tire yourself.”

“It is a small village fete, Mellie. I am sure there will be somewhere to sit if I tire, and it is highly likely that we will return before Patrick.”

Soon they were in the carriage and Sophie pretended interest in the countryside. In truth, she had wanted to get away from Plentiful. She had overheard Patrick telling Stephen yesterday that they had believed the bullet hole in her arm was the result of a poacher, therefore Sophie believed she was now safe from Jack Spode. Perhaps now that she was married to a powerful peer, he knew she was
out of his reach? Whatever the reason, it had been close to two months since Jack Spode had last made contact with her, so Sophie felt the danger was over.

It had been two days since she and Patrick had argued in the kitchen. She had woken alone the following morning to find her husband had turned into a rigidly polite gentleman. Almost too polite, she thought, remembering this morning as he bowed over her hand and asked after her arm. There had been no warmth or wicked twinkle in the dark depths of his eyes and Sophie did not know how to bridge the gap she had made in their marriage. In two days he had not touched her unless necessary and she missed his touch, the brush of his hand on her nape or the caress of his fingers on her chin. Most of all, she missed him in her bed, his warm arms surrounding her. Sophie knew he was angry with her, but he had promised to always share her bed, and here they were after only a few weeks of marriage and already sleeping apart.