Deeper in Sin (21 page)

She would enjoy it much more if she weren't terrified Cary would find out about Devars.

Her maid set down the tray. “There is a message on there for you, Miss. From the Duke of Caradon. It arrived this morning.”

Ignoring the food, Sophie tore open the letter.

 

 

Oh no.

 

 

She looked at the note. Cary's mother wanted him to marry. Then what would happen to her? And how could he? He wasn't yet able to . . . to be properly married.

Her gaze went back to what he'd said. That he wouldn't be able to see her, and it would drive him mad.

He must care about her to say that.

But he was supposed to find a bride. Marriages of the aristocracy did not always involve love. Her mother had written that in her book. For many, marriage was about power, wealth, land.

She wanted Cary to have a good marriage. She wanted him and his wife to love each other. Which meant he had to be healed and able to make love.

It also meant that once he could make love, he
couldn't
be with her. She would want him to be faithful to his wife.

So once he was healed, she must give him up.

 

Sophie wrote a letter to Belle that afternoon, and enclosed almost all of the allowance Cary had given her as his mistress. This was her first payment, and she would receive it monthly. She'd kept enough to pay her bills, which was very little, as she planned to live frugally. In the letter, she asked about the children, and her heart fluttered as she thought of her son. She did tell Belle that Devars was in London, but she lied and wrote that she saw him but he did not see her. She did not want Belle to worry. At least it seemed her theft was still secret.

Her heart ached as she sealed the letter.

She must go and see her son, Alexander. She missed him so much. She'd never been apart from him before. Cary was going to buy a carriage for her. As soon as she had it, she could go. She would make it a quick journey. She had to try to keep seducing Cary.

But after they had been to the brothel near the docks yesterday night, he had not even touched her.

Her maid came into the parlor where she was writing. “Miss, there is a woman come to see you. She wouldn't give her name, but she said you would very much want to talk to her.”

A woman, so not Devars. She told her maid to send the woman in.

Sophie jolted in shock as soon as she saw the woman. It was the Cyprian who had been tied to the strange metal rack at the brothel. The one who had been whipped.

The woman plopped down onto the settee. Her red hair was caught in a chignon. She wore paint on her cheeks and lips and something to darken her lashes. Sophie realized this was the courtesan who was known as the Fiery Rose.

“I came here to tell you that I know who killed Sally Black and who attacked you,” the Fiery Rose stated. “I wanted to go to the Duke of Caradon, but when I went to his house, he was there with his mother and some girls I thought must be his sisters. I knew he'd come to see his mistress soon enough. If I tell him the name of the killer, I'll be in danger of getting killed myself. I need money. Money to get away. To make a new life for myself.”

“I will give you money.” Though Sophie would have to rip open the letter to take it out—

“I don't want it from you.” The woman sneered. “I want it from His Grace. He must have piles of money. Enough to let me buy a lovely house in a warm, sunny country. Enough that I can have gowns in the first stare of fashion. And jewels.”

“I have no idea what the duke would give you. Or even if he will give you anything. If you know about the murder, it is your duty to tell the truth.”

The redhead laughed. “Duty? That's rich. As for His Grace—I think he'll pay a great deal to save his own neck.” She sobered and gave Sophie a cold, hard look. “Let me tell you, Miss Ashley. Being a mistress is a short-lived career. Right now, I have an adorable viscount wrapped around my finger. But I know it won't last forever. That's what happened to me mum—she died in poverty. This is my chance to build my future.”

“But you've been a courtesan—haven't you saved money for your future?”

The woman laughed mockingly. “All mistresses have some kind of vice. Some way to escape.”

“Escape?”

“Escape the sin of having sex with men you don't love. Half of them I didn't even like.” Her laugh was cold. “So courtesans turn to drink. Opium. Gambling. My escape was opium. I was introduced to it by one of my protectors. Now I can't fight it. That's where all my money has gone. So here is a note for your precious duke. He is to meet me in Hyde Park in the morning. At seven o'clock. He must bring me a bank draft for ten thousand pounds.”

“Ten thousand? Good heavens—”

“Once he can hand over the real killer, he'll be safe. So if he wants to save his hide, he will pay it.” The woman swept to her feet. “Seven o'clock. With ten thousand pounds. He is to send me a note to confirm he will be there.”

The woman hurried out of the room.

Sophie followed but reached the door as the woman jumped up into a hackney.

She would have to send him the note. She just prayed his mother and sisters didn't see it.

She would take the letter and give it to one of Cary's servants. At the tradesmen's door. Since a mistress shouldn't run into her protector's mother.

 

Only gentlemen went to the park at seven o'clock in the morning. Out for morning rides, they trotted huge, beautiful horses along the Rotten Row.

Sophie had come by hackney, had been dropped off at the gate at a quarter to seven. She chose deliberately to come early. She suspected Cary wouldn't want her to be here—but she wanted to know who had attacked her, so she was going to hide and take up a spot where she could overhear.

Cary didn't come to her last night. In his letter, he'd said he would come to her as soon as he were able. She'd hoped he might have slipped out and seen her to talk about the demand from the Fiery Rose. But he hadn't.

So she hadn't been able to try to seduce him.

The thing was, she had hoped all night he could come—even when it was obviously a hopeless business. Even though he'd warned her that he wouldn't come, it had hurt when she had not seen him.

How in heaven's name was she going to let him go eventually?

It would be like tearing out her own heart. But she had to do it.

Sophie hiked over the grass, damp with early morning dew. Water rippled on the Serpentine, the lake within Hyde Park. It shimmered and glittered. Sophie tried to stay screened by trees. She didn't see anyone yet.

A dark shape was stretched out by the water.

Sophie's heart flip-flopped. It looked like—

She ran across the grass, heart pounding, her lungs heaving for breath. She saw boots with a heel. The white froth of petticoats beneath skirts. A cloak that had fallen open. Vibrant red hair spilling across the new grass.

Sophie reached the body and sank to her knees.

It was the Fiery Rose, the Cyprian who had come to see her yesterday. The one who said she would tell the duke everything she knew—for a price.

She lay on her stomach on the grass, her face turned to the side. From where Sophie was on her knees, she could see one of the woman's large brown eyes, open and horribly blank. The woman's arms were outstretched and limp, her white gloves soiled.

Sophie saw bruises around the woman's throat.

The woman had been strangled.

Something was clutched in the woman's hand.

Sophie leaned close. Carefully, she pried it out. A small, crumpled note. It was from the duke and it read:

 

 

It was the confirmation he was supposed to send.

It wasn't yet seven o'clock. Someone had come here, had found the woman before Cary got here, and had killed her.

Sophie knew she should go and fetch the magistrate. But what should she do about the note? The magistrate would see it and think Cary had done this.

She could take the note with her. What harm would there be in that? The duke hadn't done this. She knew that. Someone had gotten here and found the woman first.

Cary would be here any moment. He was innocent—but would anyone believe him? They wouldn't arrest a duke based on this.

Or would they?

She should put the note back where she'd found it.

But she could protect Cary just by taking it.

Morality won. Sophie put the note back into the girl's hand. What she would do was find Cary. He must be on his way here. If he wanted to take the note away, he could. As long as no one found the poor girl before she brought him back.

But she knew, in her heart, Caradon would not take away the note, even though it was a false clue against him.

She knew he would be too honorable.

16

Sophie ran headlong through the Park Lane gate. She careened into the road—someone shouted. Horses whinnied, and she whirled to see flying hooves and a huge carriage bearing down at her. Crying out, she jumped back, and the carriage passed by her so close, she could feel the suction of the air.

Her lungs heaved. She used to be able to outrun any boy in the village, and now look at her. Her throat was burning from frantic breathing as she stumbled through the gateposts of the house.

“Sophie?” It was Cary. He was walking down his drive, and now he ran toward her. He must be going toward the park to meet the Fiery Rose at seven o'clock.

He was innocent. He had to be. But what if—what if he were hanged for this? Panic and shock and horror all exploded in her. She ran at him and grasped his arms.

In front of his house, he folded her into his embrace. “Sophie, what's wrong?”

“The woman you were going to meet is dead. She's by the Serpentine. She's lying in the grass. And she's holding a note from you. She was strangled. Oh, it's so—”

He drew her tight to his chest. “Shh, love. You've had a bad shock, but we can't speak about this out here. Let me take you to my house. You need brandy. Then I will go and see.”

She shook her head, but that made her dizzy and sick. “You need to come with me. Now, Cary. Please. I—I was going to take the note she was holding. It is your note to her. The one telling her you would meet her. But then I thought I shouldn't. But maybe I should have. Someone might have already found it. I didn't know what to do—”

“Calm down, Sophie,” he said.

“Caradon, what is happening?”

The soft, cultured feminine voice came from the steps of his house. Sophie choked on her voice. Cary turned around, Sophie in his arms.

She saw pale hair—white hair—and an ivy-green dress with beautiful trimming. Clutching the railing, the woman limped down the steps. Soft lines surrounded the woman's mouth. Concern etched more lines in the woman's high forehead. She looked like an older, female version of Caradon.

His mother.

Sophie recoiled in shock. Numbly, she thought:
What did I just say? No wonder he tried to stop me from speaking.

“Caradon, this child in obviously in shock, and you are now as white as she is. What woman has been killed? What has this to do with you? I must know what is going on. Take me inside, please, and bring this girl in. You will tell me everything. I know there is something going on—all the people I have encountered today look at me as if there is something I should be told, but everyone is too afraid to give it voice.”

Sophie looked helplessly at Cary.

“She can't know the truth,” he murmured into Sophie's ear. “She's ill and not strong. Having me suspected of . . . This could kill her. If I'd known she planned to come to London, I would have stopped her. She wanted to catch me by surprise, so she can push me into marrying.”

Sophie looked at up him. She kept her voice low. “But she will know you are innocent. She is your mother.”

“She may not believe completely in my innocence.”

She was about to ask why—why his mother wouldn't have complete faith in him, when his mother commanded, “Stop whispering, the two of you. Caradon, we will go inside now. And I wish to know everything that is happening.”

Cary sighed. “Mother, this is Sophie. A dear friend of mine.”

“A dear friend?” his mother echoed.

“Yes,” he said. He turned to Sophie. “Sophie, this is my mother, the Duchess of Caradon. Please go inside with her—instruct one of the footmen to tell my man of affairs to have the magistrate fetched. I will examine the body. Tell Sir Henry to meet me in the park.”

Sophie lowered her voice to the softest whisper. “Are you going to take the letter?”

In a soft voice he answered, “I'm going to give it to the magistrate, Sophie. I have to.”

“She must have been followed. Or the killer knew she was going to meet you—”

“I know. I will track down those leads. Go with my mother—now.”

“I shouldn't be with your mother. I'm your mistress.”

“Well, love, maybe don't tell her that.”

“I don't want to be dishonest with your mother.”

“All right, damn it.” Cary walked over to his mother. “Mother, I have to give you fair warning. Sophie has newly become my mistress. I will take her to her home rather than bring her into the house—”

“No, do send her into the house here. I would like to speak with her.”

That Sophie had not expected.

Sophie sat in the duchess's morning room, across from Cary's mother. The duchess sat with her spine stiff, her posture utterly perfect—she was like a swan transformed into human form. Her every movement was elegant, and even when she sat completely still, she looked unearthly, like an unreal and perfect creature who would disappear if Sophie tried to touch her.

Sophie stood. “I am so sorry, Your Grace, but I should go to Cary—to Caradon.”

“You will sit down . . . Sophie, I believe. My son instructed you to stay here. You must listen to him. Tea will arrive in a moment. And you must tell me what is happening.”

The duchess spoke imperiously, if quietly. But Sophie shook her head. “I am sorry, but I need to be with him. I found the poor woman, and I might be able to help.”

Tea came then, brought by a maid in a crisp apron and white cap, and they had to stop speaking. Sophie saw the girl's gaze slide to the side and drink in every detail of Sophie. Had they already been talking of her downstairs? She had been here three times, and one time she had been bruised after the attack.

The duchess poured the tea.

Sophie was rather stunned when the woman handed her a gilt-rimmed cup. “I shouldn't be here,” Sophie said suddenly. “You—you wouldn't have me in here if you knew what I am.”

“Someone had best tell me what is going on. Since you seem to know much more than I do, I thought I would speak to you.”

The thing was, she was a courtesan, but she hadn't actually slept with Cary. And the duchess was pouring her tea, while her adoptive mother threw her out of her home for something less scandalous—because she and Samuel had been planning to marry.

Sophie set the tea on her lap, untouched. “It's rather gruesome. I don't know how to explain it without horrifying you.”

“My dear, I had to endure it when I learned my son had been taken prisoner of war. And before that—that other time so many years ago. I have faced terrible things. I doubt very much whatever you say will make me swoon.”

The duchess was very strong. Sophie wanted to ask her about the “other time.” Did it have something to do with Cary? Was “that time” the thing in his past that haunted him? But the duchess went on, “Why has my son gone rushing off to look at a dead woman? Does he know this woman?”

Sophie tried to explain as best as she could. Beginning with the woman murdered and left in his mews. Then the attack on her. “This woman claimed she knew who had attacked me and killed Miss Black. Your son was supposed to meet her so she could tell him.”

“And now she is dead. I am so sorry for what happened to you, my dear. That must have been frightening. And that area you spoke of, where you lived, it is a rather violent place, is it not?”

“The people there are poor. So there is some violence. But there is also violence amongst the upper levels of society.” Sophie was speaking rather defensively.

“But why was this other young woman in the mews in the middle of the night?

“She was a courtesan.”

His mother paled. “And she had come here to see him?”

“No. Cary—the duke, I mean, has no idea why she would have been here. He hadn't arranged to meet her when he went after her at the Cyprian ball.”

His mother sipped her tea. The she set it on a table with a rattle. “My son was at a Cyprian ball? He promised he would look for a bride.”

“That was why he went. He knew he couldn't marry until he healed himself, and he needed a mistress to do that—” Sophie broke off. Her impetuous words had gotten her in trouble. How could she say to Cary's mother that he couldn't make love?

“I do not understand.”

“I—I can't really explain it,” Sophie said helplessly.

The duchess had gone pale, frightening Sophie. Then the woman said, “But why is my son involved in this? This is the job of the magistrate.”

“Because the woman's body was found behind the duke's house, and there is a Bow Street Runner who suspects he is responsible, so Caradon is trying to find the truth.”

“A Runner suspects him?” The duchess picked up a biscuit and nibbled at it. Then she put it down. “I cannot eat. This is terrible. How could such a thing have happened?”

“He is innocent,” Sophie assured her.

The duchess had been gazing out the window toward the park. She jerked back to Sophie. “Of course he is.” But she looked frightened. The terror on her face spoke of a woman who feared it could be true. Then the duchess said, “You do understand that my son must marry.”

“Oh yes. And I want him to. I want him to marry happily.”

“I saw the way he embraced you. He seems to be . . . rather taken with you.”

“Your son did not want to become my protector,” Sophie blurted.

Oh bother. Her tongue had run away with her. She went on, “He did it to save me, you know. He did it for the noblest motives.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I married a young man who went to fight at Waterloo, Your Grace. He did not come back, and I was left with no place to go.” She wanted the duchess to know Cary was a good, wonderful man. Since there was some reason she feared he might not be—if she could think him capable of murder. And since the duchess was sick, Sophie wanted her words to comfort.

“My son became your protector.... But did you have no family? Did this young man not have family?”

Sophie flushed again. “His family did not accept the marriage. He was a viscount's younger son. I was—I was adopted and raised by a doctor and his wife, but my . . . husband's family considered me beneath him. And my best friend also lost her husband, leaving Belle and two—rather, three—children without anyone to look after them. I wanted to help her too.”

There was something in the quiet way the duchess scrutinized her....

But even a duchess couldn't see through the lies, could she?

“And you had no family. What of the doctor and his wife?”

Should she say they were dead? It would be the easiest. “They didn't approve either.” She said it softly. She probably screamed guilt. Then realized her words made no sense. Why would they not approve of a viscount's son? Heavens, they would have been delighted at such a match! Had she given herself away?

His mother sipped tea, then gracefully set it down. She was very thin. Her hands trembled slightly, as if it were a strain to lift a cup. “You seem a sweet and dutiful girl, Sophie. You are most certainly responsible and kindhearted. Surely,
this
is not the right path for you.”

“But there isn't another one. My friend has young children, and they will starve unless something is done—and done quickly.”

“Could you not become a companion? A governess, perhaps?”

“If it were even possible, that would rescue me alone. I would never have enough to keep the rest of them. I prayed I would find a kind and generous man to—to look after me.”

“My dear, as a woman who was once a wife, I cannot help but balk at your hopes.”

“But I would not want to be—be with a man who had a wife,” Sophie assured her. “That would be heartbreaking for a wife, and I would not do that. When the duke wants to marry, I would not interfere with that in any way. I promise,” she said breathlessly.

“Oh, my dear, you already have.”

“I don't understand.”

Color rose on the duchess's cheeks. “I saw the look he gave you. I do fear that you have engaged my son's heart. You are very beautiful and very sweet, and I fear it is going to be very difficult for any other young woman to compete with you.”

“Of course not. I'm not—not of his class at all. I do know what I am. I aspire only to protect my family.”

“Now I understand my son's concern about you. He is correct—you do not belong in the world you have chosen.”

“I have to learn to belong,” Sophie said. “I have no other choice. There is no other way I can feed five mouths. No other way I could hope to give the children any kind of future.” She faced the duchess. “About the duke getting married . . . I don't believe he can. Not yet. You see, I am not really his mistress in that way. Because of his terrible memories, he can't—” Her cheeks were flaming hot.