Till Dawn with the Devil (10 page)

She started at the sound of masculine voices arguing in the front hall. Had her brothers returned? Sophia wondered as she tucked Reign’s gift and card into her bodice. She opened the door to the drawing room and walked to the stairs. Below were three gentlemen unknown to her. One was arguing with their butler as the other two removed one of her grandmother’s paintings from the wall.

“Gedding, who are these men?” she inquired, her voice icy and unwelcoming.

“My apologies, milady,” the butler said, managing to bow and glare at their unexpected visitors at the same time. “These
gentlemen
claim that they have come for their property.”

Sophia watched in outrage as one of the men walked out the front door with one of the paintings. “You there. Halt!” The man simply ignored her. She placed her hand on the banister and hurried down the stairs.

When she reached the bottom, she headed for Gedding and the gentleman who seemed to be in charge. She gasped as another man carried off an
Etruscan vase. “See here, you cannot just wander into our house and steal our property!”

The gentleman standing beside the butler lifted his hat from his head and bowed. “Forgive our intrusion, my lady. You must be Lady Sophia. Perhaps you do not recall, but we met several summers back when I visited your brother at Northam Peak.”

Two more gentlemen exited the library. The sculpture they carried horizontally between them was so heavy that both men were panting and sweating from their efforts. “Did we? I confess, I do not recall our meeting,” she said, distressed at how many family treasures had left the house.

“There is no cause for alarm, my lady,” the gentleman said, his voice friendly and patient. “I am Pearse, and that fair-haired gentleman over there is my partner, Ram. The rest of our companions have been employed by us.”

Sophia clutched Gedding’s arm for support. “I do not know who you are, but if you do not return our property at once, I will send for a constable.”

“Oh, dear, I think there has been a misunderstanding.” Pearse glanced upstairs. “Is Ravenshaw at home? Or perhaps your other brother, Mr. Northam?”

Were her brothers responsible for this?

Fighting back tears, Sophia replied, “No. I believe you might find them at one of their clubs.”

Pearse sighed in an exaggerated manner. “A
pity. Clearly you were not informed of our arrangement.”

More treasures were casually hauled away. Sophia turned her back to the door, unable to watch. “What arrangement?”

“Lord Ravenshaw was regrettably short of funds last evening,” the gentleman explained, his steady gaze noting her agitated state. “Would you care to be seated? Forgive me for saying so, but you do not look well.”

“No, I am fine,” Sophia lied.

With his voice heavy with regret, he continued, “This is not the first time I have covered your brother’s losses. The debt is . . . considerable.” Pearse unfolded the paper in his hand and held it out to her. “As you can see, I have a list of valuables that your brother offered in trade to compensate me for my troubles. His signature is at the bottom. I swear it is authentic.”

Sophia dutifully stared at the paper, but the words turned into pools of black ink that dripped from the paper like blood.

Pearse brightened as he looked beyond her shoulder. “Excellent! Ravenshaw, your timely arrival will ease your sister’s mind. I was just telling her about our arrangement.”

Without looking at her, Stephan said, “Sophia, go upstairs.”

“How could you?” she said, glaring at her brother. “How long have you been selling off—”

“I do not have to explain myself to anyone.” Stephan nodded to the butler. “Gedding, be so
kind as to escort my sister to her bedchamber while I conclude my business with Mr. Pearse.”

Sophia’s hands clenched impotently at her sides. “I will not forgive you for this!”

“I think I can bear the strain of your disapproval,” Stephan said drily. “Now be a good girl and go upstairs.”

Sophia’s lips parted as she prepared a scathing retort. There was nothing she could do to stop her brother from selling their family’s treasures one by one.

Or was there?

Without a word, Sophia pivoted and walked away.

A business meeting had brought Reign to Lincoln’s Inn Fields. He had never expected to glimpse a tearful Sophia exit one of the offices and head for a waiting coach. He called out her name, but she did not seem to hear him.

What had lured Sophia to this part of town where she only had the protection of her coachman?

Forgetting about his own appointment, Reign hurried after the reckless lady and caught up to her before the weather-hardened sixty-year-old coachman could close the door.

“Lady Sophia!”

Sophia yelped and clapped a hand over her mouth, her blue-green eyes wide from the terrible fright he had given her. She collapsed against the leather seat, crushing the plume of white
ostrich feathers attached to her bonnet. “Lord Rainecourt, good heavens, I thought you were a footpad!”

“You deserve to be frightened, you little fool! What if a footpad or some young ruffian had decided to relieve you of your reticule or virtue?” Reign shouted at her. He gripped the top portion of the door to keep from throttling her. “What are you doing here? You took a hell of a chance, traveling alone. Why did you not call upon Lady Frances or one of those gallants that tend to hover around you when my back is turned?”

Fresh tears filled Sophia’s eyes, causing his heart to skip several beats. “I had to be certain.”

Later, Reign might regret involving himself in Lady Sophia’s troubles. His instincts told him that her brother was the source of her misery, and the lady silently weeping in front of him was no match for Ravenshaw. Without asking for her permission, Reign leaned into the compartment of the coach and took Sophia into his arms.

“W-what are you doing?”

“You need a keeper.” Reign nodded curtly to the coachman. “I will see your lady home.” With Lady Sophia cradled against his chest, he gave the coachman a level stare. “If Lord Ravenshaw should happen to inquire after his sister, for your lady’s sake and your own, it might be for the best if you were vague on the details of your drive.”

“Aye, sage advice is that, milord.” The coachman tipped his hat to the couple.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Lord Rainecourt, put
me down!” Lady Sophia exclaimed. “People are staring.”

“It upsets you when people stare?” Reign asked, recalling the other occasions when she seemed distressed by the notion that she was being observed.

“Yes.”

The bitterness he detected in that one word caused him to halt. Reign weighed Lady Sophia’s discomfort over the risk that she might be angry enough to run from him. He slowly lowered her legs until her feet touched the ground.

“Come along, my lady. My coach is not far.”

They did not speak again until Reign had settled Lady Sophia into his coach and given his own coachman orders to drive. She seemed to find her tongue once the small trapdoor was shut.

“Where are you taking me?”

Reign removed his hat and placed it on the empty seat bench beside him. “You are safe with me, Sophia. I merely ordered my coachman to drive us about town until you tell me why you are walking about Lincoln’s Inn Fields without a companion?”

She clutched her reticule to her abdomen, and seemed bemused by his casual use of her given name.

Reign was not above pressing his advantage. “Earlier, you told me that you had to be certain. What did you mean by those words?”

Sophia stared blankly out the window at the passing buildings and pedestrians. Reign had
gleaned from previous conversations that movement send her limited eyesight into a confusing mix of color and shadows. At such times, she was literally blind.

Reign closed his eyes and tried to bank the fury he was feeling on Sophia’s behalf.

“I know it seemed rather reckless, but I had to see our solicitor, Mr. Fawson, this afternoon,” Sophia said, tracing the edge of the small window with her finger. “After what Stephan did—”

“What did Ravenshaw do?”

Sophia wrinkled her nose, putting Reign’s question aside for a moment. “I had to talk to Mr. Fawson. To see if there was some legal recourse to prevent my brother from . . .” Sophia shuddered, reluctant to confess her brother’s most recent sins.

“Tell me.” Reign leaned forward and captured Sophia’s wrists. His gloved hands dwarfed her smaller ones as he cupped her hands into his. “Your brother’s sins are his alone. There is no shame in telling me.”

Sophia’s silence was damning, but Reign persisted.

“You can trust me with your secrets. Tell me; I might be able to help.”

Sophia’s shoulders slumped with resignation and defeat. “There is nothing anyone can do. According to our solicitor, what Stephan is doing is perfectly legal and within his rights as Earl of Ravenshaw.”

Reign stared at the top of her silly bonnet,
which was a confection of white ostrich feathers, Brandenburg silk, and lace, silently willing her to explain what Ravenshaw was doing so Reign could think of a painful way to discourage the bastard from hurting his sister.

After several minutes, she said, “Stephan has been turning to moneylenders for credit. I can only assume that this has been going on for several years. Yesterday several gentlemen entered our town house to claim valuable paintings, statuary, and other
objets d’art
that have been in our family for several generations. The one man, Pearse was his name, showed me a paper that had my brother’s signature.”

“Did you read it?”

Sophia shook her head. “I was so upset; all the words seemed to run together.”

Her soft-spoken confession shamed Reign. His father had done this to Sophia. What fury had driven his sire to strike down a six-year-old girl? To slay her parents and make her an orphan? For that alone, he owed Sophia what assistance he could give her. “Perhaps this Pearse was lying?”

“Oh, how I wish that were true.” Sophia raised her tearstained face until their gazes locked. The depths of her misery touched something deep within Reign that he thought long dead. “My brother arrived and did nothing to contradict the gentleman’s claims. To insult me further, I was sent to my bedchamber like some sort of simpleton for daring to question his authority.”

“Sophia, I am sorry for your troubles,” he said, meaning every word.

Sophia gently pulled her hand away and wiped one of the tears tickling her cheek. “No more than I.”

Sophia started at the sound of the front door being slammed, heralding her brothers’ return.

How long had she been asleep?

When Reign had taken her home, Sophia had entered the town house with a dreaded anticipation that her brothers would be waiting for her. She had braced herself for hurtful accusations and questions that she was unwilling to answer.

She had been spared both.

Stephan and Henry had already departed the house for the evening. Neither Gedding nor, her maid, Lucy could tell her anything more. Sophia had changed her gown and quietly rejoiced that no one would ever know about her visit to Mr. Fawson’s office or that she had spent most of the afternoon with the one gentleman her brother seemed to despise above all others.

Stephan’s voice could be heard as he called out for the butler. Sophia rubbed her eyes, surprised that she had fallen asleep in the chair, her needlepoint abandoned in her lap. Uncertain of the
hour, she set the frame aside and stood. With her arms stretched above her head, she yawned as she strode over to the clock that adorned the mantel of her small sitting room and noted the time.

One o’clock.

By now, Lucy and the rest of staff had retired for the evening. For most of them, their duties started at dawn. However, such concerns would not matter to her brother.

With her left wrist braced against the edge of the mantel, Sophia’s slender fingers curled into a fist as she silently debated whether or not she should intercede before her brothers woke up the whole house.

Or perhaps it was too late.

Sophia could hear the soothing baritone of the butler as he attempted to pacify his employer. Unwilling to leave the servant to handle Stephan alone, she returned to the chair and picked up her walking stick.

In truth, she did not need the stick to navigate the town house. Upon her arrival, she had spent the first few days learning the layout of the house so she could move around with confidence. However, when dealing with her disagreeable brothers, it did not hurt to be prepared.

Still attired in the printed muslin round dress bordered with flounces in black that she had worn since the afternoon, Sophia slowly made her way down the passageway to the stairs. Several footmen were scurrying about lighting the lamps under Henry’s supervision.

The butler, his arms laden with greatcoats, walking sticks, and hats, was trailing after Stephan as he barked his orders.

“Where is my sister?”

Sophia’s hand gripped the banister. Stephan was drunk, and most likely Henry was, too. She swallowed the bitter disappointment welling up within her.

“Above you,” she said, causing both of her brothers to glance up.