All I Ever Needed (27 page)

He had the look of a man who might accomplish anything.

Sophie did not permit herself to dwell on either the marquess or the humiliation she had known in his presence. To put her mind elsewhere, she eased herself out of the water and drew a towel around her middle. Stepping over the lip of the tub carefully, Sophie found her balance. Water dripped on the floor and pooled around her feet while she stood waiting for the ache in her knees to pass.

Putney had had the foresight to place a spindle-back chair close to the tub, and now Sophie sat on the hard seat. She rubbed her hair with a second towel until it was merely damp, not dripping, and then gently massaged her knees before she stood again. Her nightshift and robe were hanging on the inside door of her armoire, and Sophie chose only her shift. She was for bed straightaway this evening, desiring only to lie there in the darkness and lick her wounds like any injured animal.

Sophie poked the fire several times, making it give up heat and light enough to keep her warm until she fell asleep. The covers were already drawn back for her, and she pulled them around her shoulders as she slid onto her side, facing the window as was her habit. Tonight there were no stars framed by the opening in her drapes, and even the moon had disappeared behind a thick bank of clouds. It was just as well, she thought. She doubted she would have found solace in the ritual this evening, or that she would again. Far better to put it behind her and accept what was. She was alone and she was afraid and following the drift of stars in the night sky was cold comfort indeed.

She slept without dreams.

* * *

Eastlyn lighted the stub of a candle at Sophie's bedside. Neither the small sounds he made in this activity nor the flame itself roused her to wakefulness. There was no longer any evidence that she had wept in earnest earlier this night; her features were softened to a Madonna's countenance in repose. Loath to disturb her, yet knowing there was nothing else to be done, East laid his hand gently on the slope of Sophie's shoulder. She was not covered there by either the comforter or the neckline of her gown, and the touch of his palm was against her warm bare skin. She moved then, not to avoid the cup of his hand but rather to burrow deeper and try to nudge it with her chin. Eastlyn was reminded of a newborn kitten blindly snuffling for the nourishment and ease of the mother cat's teat.

"You will not find that here," he murmured letting his fingertips drift to her neck. "Come, Sophie. You must wake."

She came to awareness of a sudden, and every instinct told her she must scream. The hand quickly clamped over her mouth prevented it. Sophie stared up at Eastlyn, recognizing him immediately but unable to make sense of his presence.

"I mean you no harm." He eased himself onto the edge of the bed while he kept his hand in place over her mouth. "There is no reason you should scream. Indeed, it would have the opposite effect that you would wish. I cannot think of a faster means by which we might land ourselves in the soup."

Sophie blinked widely at him. How was it, she wondered, that she knew the words he was speaking yet did not understand the language? It was utter nonsense that she heard, like the gibberish one might use to entertain an infant.

"Sophie?" Eastlyn was uncertain that he was understood, but he chose to lift his hand a fraction above her mouth anyway. All she did was release the breath she had been holding. That caused East to breathe more easily as well. "Will you sit up?"

Did he mean to have a conversation? The stare she returned in his direction was not so much blank as it was disbelieving. Sophie was slow in responding to his query as a result.

"Shall I assist you?" he asked.

She shook her head. Pressing the heels of her feet into the mattress, Sophie pushed herself upright and leaned against the bedhead. She withdrew the pillow at her back and hugged it to herself. It afforded little protection of her person, but as a weapon it might serve. Sophie could envision the need to clobber the marquess with it.

Eastlyn regarded her, taking particular note of the mutinous set of her mouth. "Are you quite awake?"

She pinched him.

"Ow!" Of necessity his exclamation of pain was subdued. He rubbed his forearm where she had managed to get more of him between her fingers than his frock coat. "What was that in aid of?"

"To see if I am dreaming. Apparently I am not."

"I thought the point was to pinch oneself."

"That would hurt, don't you think?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her, but his eyes were amused. She was indeed awake. "Point taken."

Sophie's butter-wouldn't-melt expression remained unchanged. "What are you doing here? You must have very little regard for me that you can so blithely ignore every warning I've given you."

"And you must have very little faith in me if you think I will be caught out."

"But my cousin—"

"In the arms of Morpheus, compliments of Bacchus. Which is to say he is sleeping off the effects of an entire bottle of the grape."

"One does not have to have attended Hambrick, you know, to be familiar with the Greeks."

"Forgive me. You were regarding me with a complete lack of comprehension."

"It has nothing to do with what you are saying," she replied dryly, now quite pointed in her regard. "There is still Mr. Piggins. He is—"

"Also deeply asleep. It is the medicine he takes at bedtime, I believe, which does the trick."

Sophie realized Eastlyn had learned of the habits of Tremont and Piggins in very little time. She suspected he had considerable assistance from belowstairs, beginning with intelligence gleaned from his own valet. "Very well," she said. "I am satisfied we are not to be disturbed. I remain in confusion about the necessity of your sojourn to my room." She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and saw that it was gone midnight. "There can be no good reason for it."

"Then I hope you will listen to this poor one." Eastlyn turned slightly on the bed, drawing one knee up so that he might face Sophie properly. "I wish to remove you from Tremont Park," he said. He held up a hand to stop her interruption, and her lips remained parted around the protest she did not utter. "I have no doubt that Tremont would quite properly refuse to allow it, so I have elected not to put the question to him, or even apprise him of my intent. I do not mean to take you to Gretna, Sophie. You may put that from your mind. I would not force a marriage upon you, and I do not seek to compromise you; rather I mean to take you to a place where you might be treated with more affection and goodwill than is your lot here or at Bowden Street."

That he had paused and was in anticipation of a reply made no difference now. Short of pinching him again, Sophie could only stare.

"Sophie? Have you nothing to say?"

She hugged the pillow more tightly, resting her chin on the plump end of it. "You are in earnest, are you not?"

"Completely."

"And you are considered to be an intelligent man."

"It has been remarked so, yes."

"In full command of your faculties."

"There are questions in that regard."

Sophie did not return his ironic grin. "I appreciate that what you saw in the chapel this evening has unsettled you, but I—"

"What I observed in the chapel caused me to be considerably more than unsettled, Sophie. It was a punishment thinly guised as penance. Nothing less. From Tremont himself I heard how long he left you there. After two hours on those pebbles it was a bloody miracle you could walk at all." He searched her face, looking for some sign that she was in agreement. She remained expressionless, not precisely calm, he thought, but numb. "I collect it is not the first time he has abused you in such a manner, for you seemed to understand too well all that was required of you."

When she made no reply, Eastlyn tugged at the comforter so that her arms were laid bare to him. His eyes immediately found the livid bruise above her right elbow. "It was not Dunsmore this time who did that to you." He swore softly. "That it should happen just beneath my nose, it is not to be borne."

"You must not blame yourself."

"I don't"

"I am responsible." Sophie lightly massaged her elbow where Tremont's fingers had left their purplish marks. Because of her downcast eyes, she missed the surprise in Eastlyn's own. "I ignored my own warning, you see. At the lake. I should not have—"

"Kissed me?"

"Kissed you," she finished. "It showed a regrettable lapse of judgment."

So they
had
been seen. That flicker of light at the turret window had not been the winking sun after all. "It was a kiss," Eastlyn said with a certain amount of impatience. "We were not caught
flagrante delicto."
He witnessed her blank expression. "That means—"

"I
know
what it means," she said testily.

Eastlyn was rather more amused than offended by her tone. He counted it as a good thing that she was finally riled. "You are in no circumstances responsible for Tremont's manner of retribution. I think he takes perverse delight in subjecting you to his will. It is as if he wants more than mere obedience from you. He demands your agreement as well. Your sanction. You must needs communicate that he is in the right of it before he is satisfied. I do not pretend to understand it; it is only what I have very narrowly observed."

Sophie could find no fault with that observation. Eastlyn had clearly defined this aspect of Tremont's character. "What would you have me do?" she asked. "I cannot resist him and spend
three
hours on my knees. I am not nearly as brave as I want to be. There is an end, and I think I have come upon it."

Eastlyn did not believe it, even though he knew she believed it herself. "I would have you leave," he said. "Tonight. My sister Cara is currently in residence with her husband and children at their country house near Chipping Campden. I have written a letter for you to present to her explaining your need for sanctuary and secrecy. She will have many questions, for that is her nature, but none that you need answer against your will. She may apply to me for the particulars when I arrive."

"I don't understand," Sophie said. "You will not accompany me to your own sister's house?"

"Not immediately. I will meet you there directly. I must remain behind to explain to Tremont what I have done. Do not worry that I will tell him where you are. It is only my intention to assure him that you are safe and that I am culpable, not you."

"He will call you out."

"That is most unlikely."

Sophie was not certain she shared Eastlyn's confidence. She had learned that Tremont's actions were not entirely predictable. She was quiet a moment, thinking. "I have never once entertained the notion of leaving," she said at last.

"It is not proof that you are a coward, Sophie, but rather that you have too much courage. You continued to make a stand when reason dictated you should surrender or flee."

"I think you are giving me too much credit."

Eastlyn did not share her opinion. "You also thought you had no place to go."

"But I don't." Sophie met Eastlyn's eyes and took measure of his resolve. Could hers be any less than his? "Or rather I didn't."

He released a breath slowly as her meaning was made clear. "Then you accept."

She hesitated but then nodded slowly. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I do."

Chapter 8

The alacrity with which everything was arranged let Sophie know how much Eastlyn had relied on her agreement. She wondered if he would have used other means to persuade her had she not fallen in so easily with his plans, or if he could have accepted her refusal. The question had no bearing now, for she had no intention of testing him.

Eastlyn's valet appeared to pack Sophie's clothes. Sampson would brook no interference from her. He managed the thing with a speed and efficiency that made Sophie wonder if he had been put to this specific service before. It encouraged her to regard Eastlyn's offer with a slightly more jaundiced eye.

She was given time to dress but no choice in her attire. Sampson had emptied her armoire of everything but a single gown and its accessories. What was left was a plain muslin dress with a pale yellow ribbon trimming the hem. The valet could not have known it was one of her favorites, she thought, yet she could not acquit him of being as prescient as his master. When she presented herself outside her dressing room, she was summarily handed her navy blue redingote, matching bonnet, and fox muff.