All I Ever Needed (51 page)

East's eyes narrowed a fraction. "How?"

"He took my arm."

"He grabbed you, you mean." East moved aside the blanket and examined both of Sophie's arms above and below the elbow. "It is only because you were wearing gloves that you are not bruised."

Sophie drew the blanket up again. "Then congratulate me on my foresight for having done so," she said, "and leave off blaming Tremont for rising no higher than our low expectations."

East offered a small grunt in appreciation of her point. "Go on. I am certain there is more."

"Only that he told me I could not keep running from him. He imagines that I am in league with you, though in what manner he meant that I cannot say. He said I would do well to encourage you in a change of course."

"That is all?"

"There was one more thing. He told me that neither of us had the least idea what we were confronting."

Eastlyn wondered if that were true. Did Tremont know something more than he and Sophie, or was it merely the bluff of a man who felt the wall was ever closer to his back? "That is when Lord and Lady Redding arrived?"

"Yes. I have no idea what else he might have been prepared to say. In any event, he would not have remained at my side much longer because I meant to trod hard upon his toes."

"A singular plan."

"You think it would not have worked?" she asked. "I can assure you, he would have taken his leave with a limp that was noticeable to all. He did not consider that I would draw attention to us or give public expression to my disgust of him. He is used to fawning and flattery and being surrounded by people like Lord Pendrake who offer a surfeit of both."

"You remember Pendrake well, then."

"Of course. He was one of those in the hunting party when my father was shot. The man is a toady." Sophie stopped suddenly and regarded East with some surprise. "I never spoke of him to you before," she said slowly, trying to recall any reference to him. "How did you—"

"I know the name of every man who was in that hunting party, Sophie. I began making inquiries during the same time I was making arrangements for your return to London."

"You could have asked me. I am not likely to have forgotten who they were."

"I did not think you would be forthcoming. The truth now: would you have told me if I had put the question to you?"

"No."

"Just so."

"That is because I would not have trusted you to let it lie. Indeed, you have proved me right. Tonight I thought Tremont was making reference to the opium trade, but he was not, was he? At least, not entirely. That is why they all gathered at the ball. You must have seen them. It is a certainty we were meant to. He has come to learn that you are raising questions about the shooting. That is unlikely to put him at his ease with either one of us."

"Do you care whether Tremont is at his ease?"

"Never doubt it. He is considerably more dangerous when he is pacing. One never knows precisely in what direction he will pounce."

"I predict it will be east."

Sophie was unamused. "You do not take him as seriously as you must. If you will not show some greater care, I will apply to your friends myself and ask them to help you see reason."

"They are more likely to encourage me, rather than the opposite."

"Then all of you are lacking in your upperworks."

That pronouncement, delivered as it was in unambiguous accents, raised East's grin. "North is a deep thinker," he said. "And by many accounts, South is considered brilliant. West has only to read a thing once before he knows the whole of it."

"Intelligence is not the same as good sense."

"Well, there you have me."

Sophie knew that she had not altered his thinking in the least. There were no arguments to dissuade this man from doing what he thought was right. She had not tried to shift him from his course because of Tremont's warning; rather she had done it for her own sake.

She did not soften immediately under East's first kiss, but neither did she have the intention of holding herself from him. If he knew that, he pretended otherwise, and applied himself to winning her over with singular purpose. As an exercise in carnal persuasion, it offered much in the way of satisfying argument. It was the only time that Sophie was convinced that in surrender there was more to be gained than lost.

* * *

When East woke, he saw the lighted candle at the bedside had been moved to the escritoire. Sophie was sitting in a high-backed chair, one leg pulled under her to give her height. Her shoulders were hunched over the small desk. Several quills stood in the inkstand, and occasionally she would pick one up and twirl it between her fingertips or tap the feathered end lightly against her chin. For the few minutes that he observed her, she never once dipped a pen into the inkpot.

Her purpose at the desk was reading, not writing. The slim volumes that he had carried to the room were stacked precariously at her elbow. Each time she turned a page she came close to shifting the pile and scattering all of it to the floor.

East leaned over the edge of the bed and found his shirt and breeches. He knew Sophie had to have heard him stirring and then dressing, but she did not glance in his direction. The long sleeves of her robe fell loosely about her elbows, and she propped her head in her hands and continued to read.

East tucked his shirttail into his breeches as he crossed the room to join Sophie. He stood at her side a moment before pulling over a wing chair from the fireplace. He sat on the curve of one arm, stretching his legs casually in front of him. His bare toes nudged Sophie's under the desk.

"You are determined to disturb me," she said without looking up.

"That is my intent, yes."

Sighing, Sophie lifted her head from the cup of her palms and gave East a sideways glance. There was no coyness here, only an accusation. "I understand why you left the discussing of these until later. I do not doubt they were meant to be private accounts. How did you come by them?"

"I had supposed that would be obvious."

"You stole them."

"Yes."

"You have been extremely busy of late. I count six books."

East frowned slightly. "Not seven? I meant to carry that many. Have you looked through all of them?"

"No. This is but the second." She pushed the stack of ledgers toward him. "You can count them for yourself."

East saw at a glance that she was correct. "These are all the account books. The journal is missing. It is the only volume bound in green leather."

"A journal? Whose?"

"Yours."

"You stole one of my diaries? Why in the—" Sophie stopped because he was shaking his head and looking at her as if she were the one who had taken leave of her senses. The leg she was sitting on was beginning to fall asleep. She rose a bit and pulled it out from under her. Pins and needles jabbed at her foot so that she was forced to stand and hobble about to relieve it. "Perhaps you better explain what you've done," she said, turning on East. "Else you are certain to grow weary of my questions, and I am just as certain to lose all patience with your answers."

East followed Sophie's limping progress to the fireplace where she poked at the embers before adding more coals. "It was never my intention to keep you in ignorance," he said. "That I brought these ledgers with me tonight is proof of that. I am in need of your help, Sophie. I understand most of what I've read here, but you are more familiar with the financial straits of your cousins. I thought you might be able to unravel some of the accounting."

Sophie pointed to the book that lay open on the escritoire. "That one belongs to neither Tremont nor Harold. I do not recognize the writing, but it is not theirs. The first ledger I examined did not belong to them either, but the handwriting in that one is not the same as this."

East held up one hand and ticked off a finger for each name he mentioned. "Tremont. Dunsmore. Harte. Pendrake. Helmsley." He tapped his thumb and index finger a second time. "And Barlough."

For a moment Sophie did not breathe. It was as if an invisible fist had driven hard between her ribs and forced every bit of air from her lungs. "That is all of them," she said finally. "They were all there."

East nodded once, satisfied. "The clubs," he told her. "That is where I came by the information. It is not difficult. You find someone who knows someone who remembers. You sort through the stories, the poor recollections as well as the more reliable ones, and finally you have enough commonalities to form an opinion as to what the truth might be."

He gestured to the chair Sophie had vacated, inviting her to sit again. She was still holding the poker in her hands and seemed to have no idea that her bloodless grip did nothing to still her trembling fingers. "It was my intent to learn the names of every member of Tremont's hunting party. I thought it would be a good beginning. When Harte's name came to my attention, it was not a great leap to suppose that Pendrake might have been there as well. It was easy enough to confirm."

Sophie replaced the poker. "You have noticed they are often in each other's company."

"I could not fail to notice. It has been that way for as long as I have known them." He saw her puzzlement and spoke to ease it. "They were only a few years ahead of me at Hambrick Hall."

"The Society of Bishops." Sophie sank into her chair. "Is that it?" she asked, her voice reed thin. "Were they members of the Society?"

"Not were.
Are.
Once inducted, one is always a member."

"Friends for life, we have confessed?
That is what your mother said about the Compass Club, is it not?
North. South. East. West. Friends for life, we have confessed. All other truths, we'll deny. For we are soldier, sailor, tinker, spy.
I am not certain I comprehend the difference between you and the Bishops any longer." Sophie briefly picked up the ledger she had been studying and used it to make her point. "If theft is an acceptable course of action, then it seems one does not have to stray far to commit murder. Surely you must see the irony of assisting Northam in laying a trap for a thief this evening."

East actually reared back a fraction. Sophie might as well have struck him with the flat of her hand as thrown those words at him. "Perhaps it was a mistake," he said quietly, "to bring these here."

"Perhaps it was."

Nodding, East leaned into the space separating them and collected all the account books. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Sophie had raised her hand as though she meant to stay him. It hovered a moment before falling back to her lap.

Eastlyn rose and placed the books on the mantelpiece. He began gathering his clothes. "I mentioned Barlough's name to you before," he said, "when we were discussing the Society at Tremont Park. I told you he was archbishop when I was at Hambrick."

"I remember." Sophie's response was stiff. Her eyes followed East's progress as he collected his clothes.

"You expressed a certain curiosity about the Bishops the following afternoon at the lake."

"And I heartily regret it." The timbre of Sophie's voice deepened, lending weight to her next words. "
Sworn as enemies of the Bishops
." Her slight smile held no humor. "By your own admission, little has changed since you and your friends made that oath. I would never willingly say or do anything to provoke you into confronting them again."

East's voice was not much above a whisper. "I imagined that you would trust me to make it right."

Sophie fell silent a moment, slowly shaking her head. "At what risk to you?" she asked finally. "Should I want justice for my father when your life might be forfeit?"

Eastlyn sat on the edge of the bed, his cravat dangling between his fingertips. "There is more here than justice for your father, Sophie. More even than the fact that these men are profiting from the opium trade they publicly oppose." He dropped the cravat and took up his stockings, ignoring the patent curiosity he glimpsed in Sophie's features. He continued dressing, pulling on the stockings and buttoning his breeches at the knee. He was smoothing his shirt, adding the cravat and positioning the stiff collar points, when Sophie could no longer restrain herself.

"What more can there be?" she asked.

"Offering favors for profit. Selling secrets. Blackmail." East's dark glance pinned her back in her chair. "Slavery."

Sophie's mouth opened, then closed again.

East buttoned his waistcoat. "I am not saying that any one of them is worse than another. It is the whole of it that must be stopped." He ran a hand through his hair. "I did not wed you with the intention of turning you out in widow's weeds. I freely confess that I am rather fond of this life and have no wish to hurry it toward an end. I cannot promise you that I will not take risks—it would be tantamount to promising that I will not draw another breath—but
I
swear
I will exercise my best judgment in every matter that is put before me."

The ache in Sophie's throat made it difficult to speak. Swallowing did not ease it. She watched East shrug into his frock coat, then collect the ledgers and place them in the crook of his arm. Her eyes stung but remained dry.

Eastlyn's long stride took him to the door quickly. He had already given the glass knob a quarter turn when he heard Sophie coming up behind him. Her bare feet padded lightly on the floor. She stood just inches at his back, close enough for him to feel the heat of her body. He imagined that her fingers were pleating the sash of her robe and that her lower lip was drawn in just the narrowest fraction as she worried it.