All I Ever Needed (28 page)

Eastlyn was already gone from her bedchamber and so was one of her trunks. Sampson hefted the other to his shoulder and sagged very little under its weight. Sophie was left to take a valise and close the door behind them.

The carriage was prepared and waiting outside the stable, but before Sophie would climb aboard she insisted on speaking to the head groom. The items meant for the tenants that were stored in the tack room were very much on her mind. She could not dismiss the thought that she was abandoning the families at the Park again. It did not assuage her guilt that they would not see it in that same light, for they had never put any faith in her to change their lot.

Eastlyn came upon her in animated conversation with the groom. "You must go now," he said. "It is wise for you to have the best of all possible beginnings. Rain is coming and it will slow your journey."

She knew he was right. One could smell the scent of the coming downpour on the back of the wind. "A moment, please."

He stepped aside but not so far that he could not hear her orders to the groom. She was most specific about what was to be done and how it might be completed without discovery. In spite of the urgency he was feeling to have her under way, East could feel a smile tugging at his lips. He could appreciate the courage this small act of kindness showed even if she could not.

Sophie turned to Eastlyn too late to glimpse his smile and finished fastening the tabs on her redingote. "I am ready, my lord."

"Very well." He made a sweeping gesture with his arm to indicate she should precede him and assisted her entry into the carriage. He leaned inside to make certain she was situated. "Sampson will ride with my driver, and he will give you whatever assistance you require."

"He can have no liking for the position of lady's maid."

"Do not concern yourself on that count, though you will deal better with him if you do not refer to him as such."

She smiled, albeit a shade uncertainly.

"You are in good hands, Sophie. Indeed, I could not entrust you to better unless the Compass Club was here."

It was indeed a high compliment to his valet and driver, Sophie thought. "You are certain you will not join me now?"

"Quite." He removed a letter from inside his coat and handed it to her. "I did not seal it," he said. "That is so you may read it if you have concerns about its content. It will serve as an introduction to my sister and explain that I will arrive shortly."

Sophie sat forward in her seat so that she was very near the open door. "I think it would be better if you told my cousin that you are completely innocent here. You must say that you were abed when I left."

"And how do I explain that you took not only my carriage but absconded with my valet and driver as well?" He tapped the point of her nose with his fingertip. "It is better my way, Sophie."

She sighed. "If I had more time to think, I would arrive at a better plan."

He let his hand fall away. "Of that I have no doubt." Eastlyn leaned in and kissed her on the mouth before she could sit back. "If I had more time," he said, "I would make a better job of this farewell."

Sophie was entertaining no doubts on that score, and she was not proof against the roguish grin he gave her as he shut the door. Somewhat bemused, she felt him push the step into place and then heard his palm smartly slap the side of the carriage. She stared at him through the window until darkness enveloped his lone figure.

* * *

Sophie did not read the letter Eastlyn gave her. Instead, she placed it carefully in the pocket lining of her fox muff and was particular that she kept it close. The rain that Eastlyn predicted settled on them soon after they passed Loveridge. It slowed their journey considerably, causing Sampson to apologize several times for the poor accommodations of their first night's lodging. Sophie did not find as much fault as he, but supposed that as Sampson was used to traveling with the marquess he had come to have a higher standard. Her own family's finances being what they were, Sophie rarely elected to make a night's stay between Tremont Park and London. No one else denied himself that comfort, but Sophie considered it an excess when the trip could be made in a day if necessity demanded it.

The second night was spent in a more commodious hostelry. The innkeeper and his wife were pleasantly accommodating and had no complaint about bringing food and drink to Sophie's room, even at the late hour of her arrival. Many of the guests were already abed, and those remaining in the taproom were not excessively boisterous.

Sophie ate roast lamb, boiled potatoes, and fresh greens for her supper, but she was considerably less hungry than the generous portions of her meal required. Rain had come again, and she watched the golden etchings it made on the windowpane compliments of the fire's reflection. When she at last set her knife and fork down it was pouring in earnest.

Storms had never frightened her. Nannies and governesses had pulled her away from the windows where she watched the lightning strikes, their own fears making them insist that she be mindful of the glass. She had been fortunate never to absorb their dread, finding places to hide from them instead of the storm.

Sophie stood at the window and pressed her forehead to the pane. She cupped her hands around her eyes to further her view of the yard. The first flash that followed nearly blinded her with its brilliance. She blinked rapidly in reaction and saw the trees across the muddy lane seem to march toward the inn.

A rider approached, his head bent low against the driving rain, the layered shoulder capes of his Carrick coat fluttering in the wind. Lightning marked his position first on the road, then the yard, and finally as he dismounted in front of the inn. Sophie knew him instantly by his measured stride to the door, and her heart turned over queerly in her breast. She stepped back from the window with an alacrity that would have been applauded by every nanny and governess she had known.

There was nothing to do now but wait.

* * *

Eastlyn was greeted with some suspicion by the innkeeper and his wife when he identified himself as one Mr. Corbett, recently come from Trenton Mews on his way to Chipping Campden. To explain his arrival without a single valise, East fabricated an unfortunate robbery along the road ten miles back. It was a story that was easily believed and led to a lengthy exchange with the innkeeper's wife about what the world was coming to. The innkeeper, though, was of a more practical nature, and to allay his most pointed concern, Eastlyn produced money enough from inside his cuffed boot to pay for his bed.

He was shown to a room abovestairs at the back of the inn and reminded how fortunate he was to only have to share his quarters with two others, both gentlemen themselves. Eastlyn thanked the innkeeper and began removing his sodden Carrick coat in the corridor. Being of no mind to become wet as Eastlyn shook off the coat, the innkeeper quickly excused himself. East waited until the man's heavy tread could be heard at the bottom of the stairs, then he counted off the doors in the poorly lighted hall until he found the one he wanted.

He rapped twice, lightly, and waited to see what would happen. He had not permitted himself to predict what might follow when he'd first spied Sophie at the window of the inn. There was no way of knowing whether she saw him or not, or whether seeing him was to be preferred over the other. She might ignore his bid for entry altogether or open the door in expectation of finding Sampson or the innkeeper's wife, and close it again when she viewed him on the threshold.

"Who is there?" Sophie asked from the other side of the closed door.

Eastlyn grinned. He had not anticipated that she would make inquiries. "Mr. Corbett," he said, not much above a whisper. "Late of Trenton Mews and on his way to Chipping Campden." He waited. For a time there was only the low rumble of voices from belowstairs and the steady tattoo of dripping water. The handle turned, and the door opened a fraction. He stared at the single wide eye that Sophie put to the crack. It was more brown than gold in this poor light, but it was wonderfully familiar to him, and his heart eased to know he had not mistaken her figure at the window.

"Mr. Corbett?"

He shrugged. "It is as fine a name as any. Are you going to let me in, Sophie?"

"I should not."

"No, you shouldn't."

She did, though. She meant to be as straightforward as he. Opening the door far enough to permit him to slip inside, Sophie let her eyes make a sweeping assessment of his condition, and then she announced the obvious. "You are soaked to the marrow, my lord."

It was not so bad as that. Where his clothes were wet it was because he'd held his coat too close. He allowed her to take the woolen Carrick from him and place it over the back of a chair near the fire to dry. He removed his hat and shook it out. From Sophie's appraising glance he decided his person was not much improved. He raked back his damp hair with his fingers and looked around the room. He asked, "Is it a pleasant enough accommodation?"

Sophie took the hat from his hand and placed it on the seat of the chair. "I find it so. It is much improved from last evening."

"Oh? At Brideswort?"

She shook her head. "We did not make it as far as that. The carriage could not negotiate the muddy roads with due speed, and we found lodging in Coldwell. We stopped this evening before the weather turned again. It was a wise decision. Mr. Sampson and your driver are taking very good care of me." Sophie did not mean for her comment to invite his glance, but it did, and she felt herself warm under his regard. "We were not in expectation of meeting you on the road. I suppose we only have to look to the skies for the reason. Have you announced your presence to Sampson?" Sophie could not miss East's slender, mocking smile. His faintly hooded glance could not conceal either his wry amusement or his deepening interest. "No, you could not have seen your valet, could you?" she said. "He would not have allowed you to leave the room in your present attire and smelling of sheep."

"I think you are standing too close to my wet woolen coat," he said. "You must come here if you mean to accurately judge me."

Her chin came up slightly as she crossed the room to stand in front of him.

East's smile faded, and the cast of his features became solemn. "It was not my intention to dare you, Sophie. You have nothing to prove to me."

"I know," she said softly. "This is not against my will. It has been very much on my mind."

"And mine."

She nodded faintly, searching his face. He did not look away, and his eyes darkened until they were like black mirrors. "I am not entirely certain what must be done now," she said. "Perhaps your wet clothes?"

It was the fact that she was not being disingenuous that raised Eastlyn's low, throaty laugh. He tugged on the belt of her robe and pulled her toward him until her raised mouth was a moment from his. "In good time, Sophie. We will deal with my clothes in good time."

It was not clear who closed the distance between them. There was no importance in knowing the thing when there was no blame to be attached to it. Sophie's arms lifted to East's neck, and she wound them there, unmindful of the damp curling ends of his hair. The sleeves of her robe fell back to her elbows, and she could feel the contrasting textures of his linen stock and the collar of his frock coat. She stood on tiptoe, pressing herself more fully against him, and could feel the stamp of his brass buttons through the thin material of her robe and nightshirt. The slant of his mouth changed, and she felt his hands wander from the small of her back to cup her bottom. She was pulled hard against him, and the impression of those buttons was forgotten by the outline of his erection between her thighs.

Eastlyn eased his hold when he felt Sophie slightly stiffening in his arms. His kiss gentled. He touched his lips to the corner of her mouth and then lifted his head just enough to let her draw air. He noticed she made a point of studying his neckcloth, not his face.

"You will think me missish," she said. She was aware of a peculiar shortness of breath and a racing tempo to her heart.

"Hardly missish."

"Unworldly, then."

"You
are
unworldly."

Sophie judged wisely that she should not continue in this vein. She doubted that Eastlyn, in spite of his rogue's reputation, was in the habit of taking virgins to his bed. He might very well have cause to reconsider his actions if reminded too often of her innocence. She determined that she would do better not to raise the subject again, especially when she felt a decided lack of innocence in her heart.

Her fingers pressed against the nape of his neck, forcing his head lower as she raised hers. She kissed one corner of his mouth and then laid her lips lightly at his jaw. She touched the sensitive point just below his ear and let her tongue tease the tip of his lobe. His throaty growl vibrated against her palms, and she was once again pulled tight in his embrace.

His arms around her, the shelter of his body was at once secure and dangerous. Sophie had not the capacity for unraveling that conflict. His mouth on hers was an assault on her senses that left her unsteady on her toes and requiring him for support. He kissed her closed eyes and grazed her temples with his lips. His breath was hot on her ear and against her brow, and he murmured words that she could not properly hear but seemed to understand anyway.