Most Improper Miss Sophie Valentine (24 page)

Perhaps she'd let her imagination run away with her. Perhaps it was merely coincidence he told his nephew that story.

“Love becomes you, Sister,” Maria said suddenly. She had removed the pins from her mouth and was looking up at her from the carpet. “I've never seen you look so well as you do of late. Even Mrs. Cawley commented on it yesterday…that your complexion glows and your hair shines. And I see”—she sat back on her heels, smiling broadly—“you've taken to using curling papers in your hair again.”

“I do not use curling papers!”

Maria was smug and wouldn't hear any denial, but it was true. Sophie didn't need curling papers when her hair took on a life of its own lately, twisting about of its own accord.

“Well, it's no surprise to me, Sister, you won back Mr. Hartley's admiration, and when you're his wife, I do hope you won't look down on us here in Sydney Dovedale.”

She took a breath. “But I haven't yet agreed to marry James Hartley.”

Maria's lips formed a small, round “O.”

“In fact”—she took another breath—“I'm not in love with James. He's not the one who curls my hair.”

“But…”

“You know who does.” She felt certain those little bolts of lightning were bright enough even for her sister to notice.

After a short silence, Maria exclaimed, “But…he's expected to marry Jane Osborne. She'll be quite comfortably well off when her father dies, and she has no brothers to take the farm in hand. She'll need a capable husband, unless she means to sell.”

Sophie's gaze drifted back to the window through which she could see sheep grazing on the common and a gaggle of ill-tempered geese chasing Mrs. Flick along the bridge.

“He's not going to marry Jane Osborne. He told me so.” And she believed it. He didn't tell lies. There were just some things he kept to himself, but he didn't tell fibs.

Maria resumed her pinning. “But how could you marry a stranger? To be sure, he's proven himself quite amiable. He's made a very good impression on my dear Mr. Bentley and apparently he believes himself in love with you…Oh, do keep still, Sophia. Quite distraught with love, according to my Mr. Bentley. He thinks you an angel come to save him. But really, as I said to my Mr. Bentley, James Hartley has everything you could possibly want and is a far better prospect.”

Her heart skipped, faltered.
Quite
distraught
with
love
. Lazarus had never spoken to her of love. Yet he'd told the rector.

Then
we
don't exist to people like them? People like her—up there?

Jump, Jump, Jump, and I'll catch you.

Foolish man. Why could he not have said it to her?

Because she hadn't been able to say it to him, perhaps.

Or something else held him back. Thanks to his little nephew, now she understood what it was. He'd been told, long ago, he didn't exist to people like her. Despite his outward bluster, he was still a boy inside, and he had to know for sure how she felt before he could be brave enough to tell her he loved her.

Tuck enjoyed his customary noon nap in the trapped sunlight of the window seat, chin on his chest and gentle snores emitted every other breath. Lazarus had just come in to find some luncheon. Weary after a long morning that started hours before most folk were up, he was pouring two mugs of ale from the jug in the cool pantry, when he looked up and saw Sophie through the window. For a moment, he merely stared. Then he realized it was no daydream or the effects of too much sun. She was in his yard, peering in at his pantry window and bouncing up and down.

He thought something terrible must have happened, and so he hurried to the door and let her in.

She leapt down the crooked step and flew by him like a ghost in a thin white gown that was distinctly out of place in that farmhouse. “You should wear a coat,” he exclaimed, too surprised for any other greeting.

“It's August.”

“But it's too…” He wavered, his own sudden prudishness a mystery to himself. “Like a nightgown.”

She walked in a nervous circle and hugged her arms.

“Miss Valentine, is there…?”

“It was you under the balcony, wasn't it? On that night when I jumped. You were there, a boy trimming ivy. Is that the house where they dismissed you without a reference?” It all came out in a tumble of sounds, frantic and uncontrolled.

The moment had come, then. He'd never quite been able to tell her.

“It was you,” she persisted.

“Yes. It was my fault.” He cleared his throat. “I left the ladder out, because I was so distracted.” Just like that, there it was.

The clock beat gently on the mantel, and the hens outside in the yard cackled like old gossips gathered on market day.

She was staring, lips parted, cheeks flushed. He couldn't bear it. She must hate him now. He waited for the blows to come, for the tempest of her anger to rain down on his head worse than ever before. Nothing came.

“After it happened, Becky told me your name. I always swore I'd find you one day and make amends. That's why I came here to find you.”

She frowned. “Your sister knew my name?”

“Of course. She worked at the same house.”

Again she walked in a circle—first left, then right. “But it wasn't your fault,” she said finally. “I heard that other man tell you to leave it. He was angry with you for taking so long over the ivy. He made you leave the ladder behind.”

He couldn't think. All the other events of that evening and the following days had obscured much of the before memory, the details.

Suddenly she took hold of his arm, a clump of his shirt captured in her fingers, and she pulled it so hard the stitches snapped at the shoulder. “I'm so sorry. I should like to marry you, Mr. Kane. At your earliest convenience.” It came out in a breathless rush, and she kept her eyes on his torn sleeve as she said it, afraid apparently to look any higher. The “sorry,” he realized, must be for the sleeve, not for wanting to marry him. He hoped.

He felt the flagstones moving under his boots. “I am forgiven, then?”

“Of course, you're forgiven.”

Somewhere nearby, he heard Chivers whistling.

Her lashes raised another infinitesimal distance. “I know you won't ask me a second time, so I'm asking you. Marry me. Please.”

Reeling, Lazarus choked out a startled, “Yes?”

“Yes?” Again her lashes fluttered, struggled upward, her eyes now reaching as far as his lips. He saw the little nervous swallow that worked up and down her slender throat.

“Yes,” he managed. The nagging ache in his belly finally began to subside. “But…are you sure?”

In answer, she pressed a kiss to his mouth, and as she fell slightly against his length, his fingertips gingerly grazed her hips. Scalding desire roared through every sinew and muscle. He was tempted to lift her in his arms and carry her to bed, there and then.

“How soon can we be married?” he croaked out.

“The banns must be read in church three weeks.”

“Then three weeks it is.” He supposed he could wait that long. He'd waited more than ten years since the first moment he saw her. He clasped her tightly in his arms and kissed her again, hoping to stem the trembling—hers and his.

“I think your friend is thirsty,” she whispered shyly, reminding him of Chivers, who stood just inside the door, one hand on the iron handle.

“So am I.” He scooped her up, arms wreathed tightly around her, and buried his face in her hair, drinking in the soft lavender scent.

“Mr. Kane…” It was half laugh, half gasp. “May I stay here? Now? I want to live with you.”

Startled, he drew back and gazed down at her.

“I don't care about the three weeks,” she added. “I'll keep house for you until then.”

He wasn't sure he understood. “Are you rushing into this because you fear changing your mind again?”

She shook her head, and her amber hair gleamed in the sunlight through his windows. “There is Aunt Finn, of course. She must come too. Is that all right?”

All right?
Of course it was all right. He would have agreed to anything just then.

“Shall I go out and come in again, Russ?” Chivers inquired gruffly from the doorway.

They both laughed, and Lazarus urged his friend to come all the way in and celebrate with them. A moment later, they woke Tuck from his nap, and cups of ale were drunk all round, the old retainer muttering his usual groatsworth about wives and the woe they caused. Today, however, he said it with a smile, and confessed he was glad to have some of the old family back at Souls Dryft, especially if it meant the “young master” would finally get out of his blue-devil mood and stop to smell the flowers once in a while.

Lazarus gazed down at the beautiful woman in his arms, the woman who'd agreed to be his wife. His wife. The thought skipped through his head and then down to his heart, stamping about on weak legs like a newborn calf. He'd expected her to run from him when she found out the truth about her accident. To his shock, it seemed to have the opposite effect. If only he'd known that sooner, he could have saved them both a great deal of time and anguish.

***

“Impossible! Quite Impossible!” Henry paced before the cold, dark hearth. “How could you do this, Sophia? To sneak about…”

“It was not done deliberately to hurt you, but it is done, and there's no going back.” The sense of having finally taken control of her own life was almost overwhelmingly satisfying, and she couldn't help sounding a little smug. “Lazarus is meeting with Mr. Bentley now to ask for the church in three weeks…”

“Three weeks?” He looked her up and down. “Why so much haste? And what the Devil are you wearing?”

“Because I cannot wait any longer, and neither can I ask him to wait, since I already dillydallied over my answer, which was rather unfair of me, considering it was my advertisement that brought him here.” She paused. “And no, Henry, there is no child—yet.”

He flushed scarlet.

“And this is a ball gown of Maria's. She was altering it for me, but I don't suppose I'll need it now.” She felt a little sad about that, but it passed with surprising swiftness. “And I'm moving back to Souls Dryft today,” she added. “I see no reason to wait, since we're now formally engaged and…”

“Have you taken leave of your senses? You cannot move into that house before you're married.”

“I'll be his housekeeper,” she said firmly.

Henry paced quickly back and forth, and his boots squeaked in protest. “I suppose he wants a dowry, but I won't give that crook a penny. You do this entirely against my wishes and without my blessing. After all these years, when I sheltered you from the world, this is how you repay me? By taking up with that villain, a charlatan who came here with naught but a boot full of bank notes, acquired through no honest means? This
Lazarus
is not what he pretends to be, as I always suspected.”

“Are any of us, Henry?” she exclaimed. “Are any of us what we pretend to be?”

He didn't know what to say to that.

“You told me he didn't want to marry me, and it was a lie. I knew that when you told me, but I didn't want to upset you. Why did you try to keep us apart, Henry?”

“I did it for your own good. I'm your elder brother, and I'm supposed to protect you. Well, I wasn't there that night when you jumped from a balcony, but I could certainly keep you from making this mistake.”

Sophie walked around the long trestle table to gather her temper and her thoughts. Outside, the day was bright and warm, but inside this ancient fortress it was damp, and the chill seeped into her bones.

“He came here to make a new life,” she said, her voice unsteady, hands clasped before her. “And I…I'm in love with him.” She wanted to laugh hysterically. “I mean to protect him in any way I can, and you know how stubborn I am.” She knew Henry wouldn't hurt Lazarus, if by so doing he would also injure her. Despite their differences and their bickering, they did love each other, however hard it was, sometimes, to bear. “I need a home of my own, Henry. I cannot stay here and get under Lavinia's feet any longer. Surely you understand.”

As he stood with his back to the empty fireplace, he exclaimed, “It will not last. You know nothing about each other.”

“I know more about him than you knew about Lavinia.”

He passed over that quickly. “He is uneducated and common, makes no distinction of rank, understands nothing of good manners and propriety. Just like our mother, you're ruled by your heart.”

“I'd rather be ruled by my heart than my purse.” She sighed and put out her arms to him, stepping closer.

Henry brushed her hands away. “If it's true you've developed some fondness for the villain, you'd best advise him to leave this place at once, for even if I abide by your wishes and leave the blackguard alone, James Hartley is another matter. He won't rest until the truth is exposed. ”

She took a breath and pressed her palms together. “James must have been at a loose end and suffering ennui to come back here looking for me, but he'll soon find another woman to distract him again.”

“I warn you again, Sophia. I shan't take you back when you change your mind or Kane changes his. Nor shall I encourage this mistake by funding it. As you brew, so shall you drink.”

It was no more and no less than she expected, but perhaps she'd held on to a small glimmer of hope. Alas, her brother's anger was largely fueled by disappointment. He'd wanted her to marry rich James Hartley for purely mercenary reasons. Henry didn't understand love matches—never had and never would. He couldn't even forgive their own mother for turning her back on Grimstock wealth when she eloped with their father.

“You need a new waistcoat, Henry,” she said, shaking her head. “You'll take someone's eye out when one of those buttons pops free.” With that parting, sisterly comment, she left his fortress.

***

Lazarus was in the field again, haymaking under the balmy, late-afternoon sun. He didn't hear or see her until she was almost upon him. The crisp rustle of the hay and the rhythmic whisper of the blade accompanied her progress as she approached. Her beauty, as it always did, caused him to catch his breath, and his hand went to the scar on his chest as it pinched. In the past, she always stood by the hedge and watched, but today she climbed over into the field and walked toward him.

“Since you're still working out here like a stubborn bull, I decided to bring supper to you,” she exclaimed. Now he saw the basket she carried. Her hair was tied back in a long braid, and she'd changed into her old blue gown with an apron over it. “Will you stop a while and eat? You work too long and too hard. Tuck tells me you've been out here all day.”

Mother Nature, he wanted to lecture her, didn't wait for a man to rise late and go to bed early. There was always work to be done. But when she smiled at him, too lovely to resist, he set down his scythe. “I suppose I can stop a while.”

“The hay will still be there in half an hour,” she said, taking his hand.

They strode across the field to a haystack. Her hand was warm, soft, and dry in his. Sometimes he worried he held it too hard and might crush her small fingers. “What did Henry say?”

She removed her apron and handed it to him. “Dry your face.”

Slowly he rubbed it over his head and shoulders, and then they sat together in the shade of the haystack while she unloaded her basket and passed him a pork pie and the small cider jug. He watched her face, her hands, and the little stray curl of hair against the side of her neck.

He reached for her hand suddenly and brought it to his lips. “You've not kissed me in several hours.” He squinted up at the position of the wilting sun. “Must be five or six hours I've been without.”

“Is that a rule, then? That a wife must kiss her husband every so often?”

He nodded and wondered if she'd dare—out here in view of the lane. She didn't leave him wondering for long and planted a harmless kiss against his warm temple.

“Not good enough,” he whispered. So she bent another few inches and put her lips to his. They were unbearably soft. His supper cast aside, he eased her down against the hay. His hands cradled her head, and his mouth covered hers, taking it fiercely. It came over him swiftly, this need to feel her kiss again, to remind himself she was real and not a dream.

“Tell me what Henry said.”

She sighed, and her breath cooled his sun-warmed cheek. “Exactly what we knew he would say. I'm on the path to hell and damnation.”

He felt her hands on him suddenly. Of course, he knew she was a lusty wench, but…here? Where anyone might stroll by the hedge and see? He laughed huskily. “The sun's gone to your head.” But he made no move to prevent her as she unhooked his clothing and slid her hands inside.