Till Dawn with the Devil (27 page)

Leave it to Sophia to mention the one person who could shrivel his cock and his lust with one stroke.

“Do not think of it.”

Even before the words were out of his mouth, Reign knew he was demanding the impossible.
His dead mother had managed to leave an impression on both of them. Fortunately, it would be her last.

While Reign had been tending to Sophia, her brother had summoned the magistrate. Eight years earlier, the man had been summoned to the house to rule Beatrice’s death an accident. This evening, he declared a woman the world had believed long buried, officially dead. After listening to everyone’s statements, the magistrate pulled Reign aside and quietly told him that he had no interest in stirring up old scandals. His parents and Sophia’s parents were dead. The fact that Lady Colette had died twice did not alter the fact that justice had been served, albeit late. Tomorrow his mother would be buried, and hopefully the past with her.

“The magistrate was correct. What happened between your parents and mine, happened a long time ago. We know the truth now, and that is all that matters.”

Reign rubbed Sophia’s back and frowned at the tension he felt beneath his fingertips. “Sophia?” He sat up when she sniffed into her hand. “What is it?”

She swiped furiously at her cheeks to get rid of her tears. “Oh, Reign, when the magistrate asked for my statement, I told him something . . . something I have not had a chance to tell you about your mother.”

Reign moved closer so he was positioned behind
her. He slid each leg to fit her backside between his legs. Sophia was dressed in her thin nightgown again. She insisted on putting the garment on because she loathed being caught by the servants without her clothes on. Her explanation amused him since he was the one responsible for her shameful behavior, and he had no intention of behaving himself.

Sophia leaned against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Tell me.”

“Lady Colette knew Beatrice was leaving you for—” Sophia took a deep breath, reluctant to utter the name of the gentleman who had sired the child Reign had believed was his.

“Enright,” he succinctly supplied.

Reign despised Enright, and his tenderhearted wife knew it. The only thing that had prevented him from putting a bullet into Enright was that he, too, had been betrayed by Lord and Lady Burrard. If the couple had considered the man worthy enough to marry their daughter, Beatrice would not have been forced to whore herself to a man she would never love.

“I told you before the magistrate’s arrival that Lady Colette used the hidden passageways to come and go as she pleased without notice.”

Sophia shifted in his arms so she could see his face. Reign lifted her up and positioned her so that she sat on his thigh.

“For all of these years, your mother has
watched over you like a benevolent ghost. In her own way, she loved you.”

“Love?” Reign sneered. “No loving mother would abandon her son to her husband’s tyrannical and often abusive whims. And let us not gloss over the fact that my mother was a cold-blooded and calculating murderer. Lady Colette almost killed you when she discovered that you were going to ruin her plans. She murdered your mother, who was nothing more than a passing fancy of my father’s lust. Your father was killed because he was an inconvenient witness to her crime, and, lastly, my father died for his arrogance. He thought he could lock away a woman that he no longer desired, and never considered that one day she would claim her revenge.”

Sophia bowed her head. “I know. I cannot explain the workings of her mind but somewhere, twisted in that web of madness, was love. Love for her only son. She watched over you when you came home. She was there when you took up residence with Beatrice at your side.”

Reign stilled, chilling at the thought that his unstable mother had quietly observed his disastrous marriage from afar. How many times had Lady Colette listened to Beatrice and him fighting? Or the nights when he had tossed aside his pride and begged Beatrice to love him again as she had before their marriage? How many suppers had ended with Beatrice sobbing in her locked
bedchamber while Reign had drowned his rage with brandy in the library?

“My mother was there that last night when I told Beatrice she could not leave the house,” he said tonelessly.

Sophia caressed his bare chest as if to soothe him. “When your mother learned that Beatrice carried another man’s child, she saw it as a betrayal, not only to you but to the Rainecourt name. I am so sorry, Gabriel. While you were downstairs, your mother confronted Beatrice and murdered her.”

“For eight years, I have lived with the weight of accusations and private doubt about the odd circumstances surrounding Beatrice’s death.” Reign stared down at his hands. “The morning I was told that my wife had had an accident, I noticed the bruises marring her neck and I said nothing. I let the magistrate rule Beatrice’s death an accident, and I tried to get on with my life.”

“You were entitled, Gabriel.”

He chuckled softly. “Was I? The truth is, I barely recall much about that night after I told Beatrice that she was to remain at Addison Park until she delivered my child.” He pulled Sophia closer, needing her warmth and proximity. “Beatrice tried to tell me that the babe was not mine, but I was convinced that she would have said anything to free herself from me. It was later, when my head was clear, that I realized she had been telling me the truth. At the funeral, a nasty
confrontation with Lord Burrard gave me more insight into the lady I had married, and the fool Beatrice, her parents, and even Enright had made of me.”

Sophia laid the side of her face against his shoulder. “All these years, Beatrice’s family and Mr. Enright have encouraged the rumors within polite society that you had murdered your wife. The magistrate seemed to be willing to allow Lady Colette the peace in death that she was denied in life out of respect for your family. Nevertheless, if you let the truth be told about your mother and—”

“No.”

His wife straightened at his curt dismissal. “But Gabriel—”

Reign kissed Sophia’s pouting lips. “Listen, our families have been entangled longer than I care to remember. I do not give a damn if the
ton
continues to believe the Burrards’ claims that I murdered their daughter. I have learned to live with the whispered accusations and disapproval. However, I will not allow you to be fodder for the gossips.”

“You are being unreasonable,” Sophia argued, her forehead furrowing with her increasing agitation. “When I married you, I became a part of it.”

Her argument was valid, though he loathed admitting it. He should have stayed away from her, and had every intention of doing so until
Ravenshaw had foolishly provided Reign with the opportunity of claiming Sophia for his own.

“Do you honestly believe the truth will make a difference to Lord and Lady Burrard?” Reign cupped Sophia’s face and nudged her to meet his gaze. “They have hated me for eight years, and I doubt the fact that my mother murdered Beatrice will wash the blood from my hands. The Burrards will always hold me responsible since their daughter was in my care.”

The delicate arch of her right eyebrow lifted inquiringly. “I cannot change your mind?”

“No.” Reign kissed her forehead. “No more arguments.” He lifted the sheet, ignoring his nudity. “Come now, into bed, Sophia.”

His wife dutifully crawled off his lap and slid under the bedding. Reign aligned his body against hers and covered them both with the sheet. With the top of her head tucked under his chin, his hand curved around Sophia’s waist.

Silence descended in the room, leaving Reign with his dark thoughts. His brain was a jumble of images of Sophia, Ravenshaw, Lady Colette, and the very deadly pistol that she had held to his wife’s head. “Sophia?”

“Hmm?”

“Before you fancy that I am being noble, I want to be clear. If anything had happened to you, if my mother had managed to—” He coughed to conceal the tightness in his throat. “—I would not be feeling so generous. I love you, Sophia.”

Reign tensed, bracing himself for her reaction.

The faint snore coming from Sophia indicated that he would have to declare himself again when his wife was not so exhausted.

Two weeks later
. . .

The evening was ruined!

Sophia clutched her stomach as she hovered over the chamber pot for this latest bout of nausea to pass. She was blaming the rich food the cook had prepared for her miserable predicament.

Reign had warned her that their return to London did not warrant a celebration, but she had wanted to do something special for her husband. Since that fateful night when she had been at Lady Colette’s mercy, Reign had seemed reluctant to leave her side during the evenings. He had only visited his club twice, and both occasions had been at her insistence.

A supper seemed an inspired solution.

Nothing too large or fancy, she had promised her husband. Just an intimate gathering of his friends and hers. When she had proposed the idea to Fanny and Juliana, both ladies
insisted on helping, and Sophia had been grateful. She even had a special dress made for the occasion.

Sophia stared down at the splatters of fish and juices decorating the front of her dress and despaired.

“She seemed fine earlier,” a feminine voice whispered just beyond the door of her bedchamber.

The voice belonged to Lord Sinclair’s wife, Juliana.

Humiliated, Sophia braced her hands on either side of the commode and prayed the woman would go away.

“No, no . . . I should be the one to check on her,” Fanny said anxiously. “Sophia gets sensitive about these delicate matters. She does not like it when people fuss about her.”

Fanny was right. Sophia did not want to see anyone after her appalling behavior at the dining table.

She listened to the sounds of the door opening and closing. Perhaps if she just ignored the two ladies, they would take the hint and go away. Sophia started when Reign’s strong and familiar arms encircled her waist.

“Your friends tried to stop me from coming in,” her husband murmured against her ear. “They were worried about your delicate sensibilities.”

Sophia made a sound in her throat that was part groan, part laughter. “Oh, Gabriel, I ruined everything.” She turned in his arms and gestured at her dress. “Just look at my beautiful dress!”

Reign retrieved a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his coat and offered it to her. “If the dress is ruined, I will buy you a dozen to replace it. Come now, love, there is no need to cry. No harm has been done, and Frost will forgive you. Eventually,” he added with a wry smile.

Lord Chillingsworth.

Sophia cringed. The man was going to be hard-pressed to forgive her for her insult. “I was so nervous this evening. Your friends mean so much to you, and I wanted to impress them.”

She tried to pull away from Reign when he started to laugh.

“Forgive me for laughing, love, but you did make an impression no one at the table will forget. Least of all, Frost.”

Sophia delicately blew her nose. “How can you laugh? Good grief, Gabriel, I knocked a platter of stuffed trout onto floor, and then threw up on one of your dearest friends.”

Up until that moment, the evening had been lovely. It was only when the footman had placed the large silver platter of fish under her nose and she gazed down at the open mouth and lifeless eye that her stomach had lurched. The awful scent was her undoing. Blindly, she had shoved the platter away and leaped to her feet in a futile attempt to distance herself from the offensive dish. The startled footman had dropped the platter, and chaos ensued as everyone tried to assist her. Lord Chillingsworth had the misfortune to have been seated to her right. He had grabbed her arm to
steady her, and she had rewarded his chivalrous gesture by throwing up into his lap.

Sophia wondered if anyone had ever perished from shame.

“Would it help if I told you that the Lords of Vice merely tolerate Frost? Or that Vane and Saint would make you a wealthy woman if you would come back downstairs and do it again?”

“Your friends are insane.”

Sophia bit back a smile as Reign led her over to one of the chairs near the fireplace. He sat down and pulled her onto her lap.

“Do not think you can charm me into returning to the dining room, Lord Rainecourt,” she said, trying to sound stern.

“I would not think of it,” Reign replied, cuddling her closer. “This way I get to keep you all for myself.”

“I am never leaving this room.”

Reign raised his eyebrows at her declaration. “Come now, you are made of sterner stuff, Sophia. Frost will survive, and you have provided our friends with an entertaining tale that Vane and the others will likely regale the
ton
with for months just to annoy Frost.” He sobered. “What is it? Are you still ill?”

Sophia wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “No, my stomach started to settle after—well, you know.”

“Frost will be pleased that his sacrifice was not in vain,” Reign said, not bothering to hide his amusement. His hand slid from her arm to
rest possessively against her stomach. “When were you planning to tell me that you are carrying our child?”