Jilting the Duke (22 page)

“I intended to surprise the intruder, not be surprised,” Seth offered.

“And that's supposed to mollify me?” Sophia brushed the blond hair from his eyes.

Seth smiled wanly. “It's the best I can do for now. I see you've brought my oaf of a brother.”

Standing up, Sophia stepped out of the way.

Aidan dropped to one knee at Seth's side, his manner all tender solicitude. “Can you tell us what you remember?”

Malcolm interrupted. “I've already quizzed him mercilessly; he remembers little after leaving the lodge. Most of our details come from Colin.”

“Ah, yes.” Aidan looked around. “Where is my brother?”

“After we arrived, he rode out to escort Judith the rest of the way here,” Malcolm explained. “She arrives day after next to cart Seth away.”

Audrey caressed Malcolm's arm absently. “We've decided to accompany Judith home. Her manor is on our way to the Lakes.”

“I begged them to come.” Seth groaned. “I need protection from Judith's tender mercies.”

“Judith isn't as forbidding as you boys make her out to be,” Sophia objected.

“Ah, but you aren't her sibling,” Aidan countered. “Like her Biblical namesake, Judith has always been judge, jury, and executioner when it comes to us boys.”

Audrey hid a yawn. “It always surprises me that such powerful men can be cowed by a woman as tiny as Judith.”

“You didn't grow up with her. Judith makes Wellington quake. I've seen it.” Seth groaned.

“Judith is exactly what you boys made her be,” Audrey observed.

“Actually”—Malcolm smiled—“Judith likely kept the whole lot of Somervilles—as well as me and Tom—from growing up milquetoasts or dandies.”

Sophia pulled a chair to the chaise behind Seth's head and sat with her hand on his shoulder. “Tom thought Judith felt obligated to counter Aaron's influence.”

Aidan was spared acknowledging Tom's perhaps too apt observation by Audrey's half-whisper. “He's asleep again. Should we move him to the bed?”

“No, let's leave him be. I'll stay with him until morning,” Aidan said. “It's been a long day. I'm sure you wish to retire.”

Malcolm nodded. “I'll remain here a while as well.”

The two women rose to retire. Audrey took Sophia's arm. “I thought we would visit the nursery to see that the boys are in their rooms. Then I can show you the rooms the housekeeper prepared for you.” Sophia agreed, and the two women took their leave together.

At the nursery, Sophia and Audrey found the bed from Ian's room dismantled and moved into his step-cousins' room. Audrey's boys had been describing the route of their trip, from investigating Roman ruins near Windermere, to fishing and sailing on Derwentwater, and climbing Helvellyn, as well as a dozen other plans. At some point, they had determined it would be more fun if Ian could come along. Sophia and Audrey had barely crossed the threshold when they were greeted by three boys begging for Ian to accompany them.

“Please, Mama, may I go?” Ian's face was radiant. “I've never been to the Lakes.”

Sophia knew that she would not be able to refuse him, not if she meant to help him forge friendships. But so soon? Her only hope was that Audrey would not wish to manage another child.

“Boys, boys.” Audrey calmed her sons. “Lady Wilmot and I must discuss this privately. We will let you know our decision in the morning.” But as soon as she and Sophia stepped into the hall and shut the door, Audrey smiled broadly. “I intended to offer just such a plan. Our boys get along famously, and, having a third boy along will ensure that my two quarrel less. Besides”—she drew close, dropping her voice to a whisper—“it might be safer for Ian if he were far away right now. Malcolm mentioned the threats at the opera. We would have my boys, Malcolm and me, and Aidan's sturdy coachman, all keeping watch.”

Sophia thought of the house, silent and empty without Ian, then of the knife glinting in the opera box, and she agreed.

* * *

Aidan watched Sophia leave, arm in arm with Audrey. Now that he'd seen that Seth's color was good and that he could speak in clear sentences, Aidan could relax somewhat. Judith would take over Seth's care; no one dared die when Judith was in charge. Ian would travel to the Lakes with Malcolm's family, and there, far from the danger that threatened in London, Malcolm's and Aidan's men would keep him safe. Having fulfilled his obligation to his ward, Aidan would focus on Sophia, protecting her, but also exploring the passion that flared between them.

“I'm still of the mind that you have a chance to set things right,” Malcolm said.

It took Aidan a moment to realize Malcolm was talking. “Why do you think things need setting right?” Aidan quizzed, trying to determine what he had missed.

“I don't know what happened between you. I don't know why she married Tom,” Malcolm mused. “But your rooms adjoin. Don't waste this chance.”

“At my club, you were appalled that I might have seduced your cousin. Today, you invite me to her bed.” Aidan thought the best solution was to admit nothing. “I find myself confused.”

“I've been thinking of my own life . . . how Audrey and I almost let each other go. Both of us so hardheaded we thought we were being rational and even noble to ignore our hearts. In the wars, Aidan, we learned to ignore our feelings, to focus on what we could control. That might be the way to survive battles, but it's not the way to live.” Malcolm drank more wine. “You loved each other once—I'm certain of it—so, if you can find even a moment's happiness with Sophia, you should pluck that moment as if it were a piece of fruit, and squeeze out every drop of juice, taste every piece of pulp, leaving nothing behind.”

“When did my rational old friend become so dreadfully sentimental?” Aidan grumbled.

“When I saw Audrey, blood staining her ball gown, collapse on the parquet floor of Lady Sheppard's ballroom.”

Aidan's stomach twisted at the thought of Sophia wounded. “Sophia will be guarded every moment, of that you can be certain. I will let no harm come to her.”

“I had a dozen men in that ballroom, and I couldn't protect Audrey,” Malcolm chided. “Don't let this chance slip away; it might be your last opportunity to make things right.”

Aidan nodded as if in agreement, and Malcolm fell silent. Soon, both men were asleep in their chairs.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The problem with sending Ian to the Lakes was one of logistics, and Malcolm and Aidan worked out the details over breakfast. If Sophia and Ian were being watched, then they had to obscure when Ian had left, with whom, and for what destination. Eventually it would become clear that Ian was no longer with Sophia, but if their plan were successful, it would be difficult—and thus counterproductive—to pursue the boy. Keeping Sophia primary in the blackmailer's attention was dangerous, but essential.

The plan wasn't foolproof. But Sophia had trusted Malcolm from her girlhood, so when he'd taken her hands and promised that he would keep Ian safe, she could not say no. In their youth, Malcolm had been her ally against Phineas, the steady one among her run-wild cousins. She'd been his first friend in England when his mother, the youngest Elliot sibling, had sent him home from Lexington, Kentucky, to be educated with his cousins at Harrow. Sophia had been pleased when he found Audrey, a woman of spirit and conviction but a tender heart.

Until Judith arrived and the company scattered, what mattered was keeping everyone within view. The boys were allowed free run of the house, but outside, they had to be accompanied by one of Forster's men. Both of Audrey's boys—Jack and Toby—were responsible and observant. Ian would be well watched.

The others spent their time entertaining Seth with gossip from balls and gambling rooms, descriptions of the latest routs, and tidbits from their club and Tattersalls. Sophia was surprised once more at how small the
ton
was and how far (and how quickly) news carried. If she were to become Aidan's lover, she could only do so in the country.

Late in the evening, when the boys were safely tucked into the nursery, terrifying themselves with ghost stories, the adults played faro, then whist, at a table near Seth's bed. Audrey beat them all, to Aidan's and Seth's open dismay, and Malcolm's and Sophia's amusement.

The next morning, Judith arrived promptly at ten. Seth was bundled into the carriage by eleven with Colin and Judith at his side. By half-past eleven, Judith's carriage was on its way home.

Half an hour later, Ian took a sad farewell of his cousins on the front porch of the house, while the Hucknalls waited for their carriage to be pulled round. Anyone watching would have seen the boy appear to argue with his mother, then run angrily into the house. A few moments later, the carriage pulled up, and Malcolm, Audrey, and their two boys left, heading as if back to London.

Stopping in the village for ribbon, Audrey left the carriage door open wide. Anyone walking past could see that no one traveled with the Hucknalls but their own two sons. Ian, thinking it was a fabulous game in which he would surprise his cousins after an hour on the road, remained hidden in a false seat compartment until the Wilmot estate and its village were far behind.

Then the carriage turned north to Judith's estate and the Lakes beyond.

* * *

Sophia had watched the carriages until they disappeared into the distance. Her uncle had sent a note inviting her to dinner, and, without the excuse of Seth's injury, she'd been obligated to accept for her and Aidan. It would delay her decision by another evening: would she act on the passion that increasingly flared hot between them?

The housekeeper had prepared a tour of the house, kitchens, and pantries, and though Sophia would have preferred to retreat to her rooms, she knew it would disappoint the staff not to observe the expected rituals.

Her obligations were fulfilled late in the afternoon, leaving hours before she would have to dress for dinner. Aidan had offered to walk with her in the gardens. But she had asked the housekeeper to offer her regrets, claiming she needed to lie down. Instead, she went to the attics above the nursery.

From Italy, Sophia had sent their books and papers to London, finding those items more of a comfort than a sad remembrance. But she'd sent five trunks—what was left of Tom's things—directly to the estate, to preserve them for Ian who would someday want reminders of his father. She had never intended to unpack those trunks herself, and she certainly didn't want Aidan watching when she did.

The housekeeper had indicated the trunks were in the central attic space. She began with the one trunk of Tom's clothes she had kept for Ian. As she lifted its lid, Tom's scent—sandalwood—rose from the tweed jacket lying on top. She held it up and pressed it to her face. Soon it grew wet with her tears.

* * *

When Sophia pleaded a headache, Aidan wondered what she intended to do without him. Over the past weeks he'd come to believe two things: that she didn't know anything about the papers they were seeking, and that she was hiding something else, perhaps equally dangerous. Whatever it was, he wanted to know all her secrets. He'd reported the first to Walgrave and the Home Office, and he'd taken steps to address the second. He rarely left her alone, and when he did, one of his footmen reported on her actions. Within minutes, he learned that her ladyship had asked her maid, the housekeeper's daughter, to help her change into clothes suitable for the attic.

He arrived at the top of the stairs as she opened one of the trunks. She lifted a jacket—clearly Tom's—from the trunk and placed it in her lap. From his vantage point, he could see her hand caress it softly, her finger trace the line of the patterned material. Then she'd pressed it to her chest like a well-loved child and buried her face in it.

Suddenly Aidan realized that he and Malcolm had been wrong. She
had
loved Tom. The knowledge felt like a blow to his gut. It had been easier to believe her a fortune hunter who had cared little for her husband. Over the years Aidan had decided that their passion had been only a physical pleasure, not a joining of two hearts—something Sophia easily set aside for wealth and a title. Sophia's choices, he had convinced himself, were made out of heartless self-interest.

But this,
this
was evidence of love. For all these weeks, she had been so self-possessed, so contained and elegant, but when she'd held Tom's jacket, Aidan glimpsed what he hadn't wanted to see. Under her self-possession was a woman uncertain, clearly still affected by the loss of her husband. He'd seen the same stance in others, women whose husbands had served in his regiment and whom he'd notified of their deaths. He should have seen the similarity sooner; Sophia would not be one who heard of her loss with public sobs and hysterics. No, she would be the one whose façade never faltered, whose eyes might glisten momentarily with tears, who would see the bearer of the bad news politely to the door, then lean up against it and weep.

He coughed, pretending to clear his throat.

“How long have you been there?” Sophia stood, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Only just arrived.” He looked around as if counting the trunks. “Do you have all these to go through? May I help or would you prefer to face them alone?”

She shrugged. How was it that when he was away she wished him to stay away, and when he was with her, she wished him never to leave? “Five isn't so many. For the most part, I packed like items together: books with books, papers with papers. These trunks held things we wouldn't need. Those two”—she pointed to the back of the room—“were shipped at least a month before Tom's death, so it depends on when he got the papers. We could leave those till last.”

She pointed to a smaller wooden trunk. “That one should have nothing in it but mementos . . . reminders of Ian's childhood. Things I couldn't bear to discard.”

She pointed to the two larger wooden trunks beside her. “These two hold Tom's things. This blue one I made for Ian, things to remind him of his father. That red one—well, truthfully, I don't know what's in it. After Tom died, Luca put everything remaining of Tom's there.”

Aidan recognized the red trunk: the one Tom had brought with him to Harrow and later to Cambridge; it had a false bottom. “I'll take the red, while you finish the blue?” Aidan found a stool and sat before the trunk. “To make sure we don't miss anything, let's take everything out, examine the trunk itself, then put everything back.”

Sophia began emptying her trunk. The first layer yielded clothes, Tom's court dress, gloves, a pair of glasses. For a minute Aidan was mesmerized by the movement of her long slender fingers as she checked each pocket, felt every lining.

He turned to his own trunk and angled it so as to watch her movements and conceal his own. He lifted the lid. On top was a delicately knitted blanket—likely a child's—and Aidan wondered why it wasn't with Ian's things. He set it aside and caught a hint of bergamot. Underneath were the sorts of things Tom would have traveled with: a portable writing desk, a case filled (still) with toiletries, a razor, tooth powder, various unguents mostly dried, several notebooks with soft leather covers tied shut with leather straps—Coptic bindings, Tom had always called them. All dated to the early years of Tom and Sophia's marriage. Aidan set them aside to review later.

“Tell me, who is Luca?” To open the hidden space, he needed to distract her.

“Tom's secretary in Naples and mine here for a time.” She uncovered toy animals Tom had carved from scraps of wood.

“Tom's secretary?” Aidan felt along the edges for the latch. “Was he with you long?”

“Almost from the day we arrived. When he was eight, he climbed a tree next to our garden wall to watch Tom work with his plants. Tom never ran him off. He said Luca reminded him of you as a boy, always watching from some vantage point.”

“I was likely stealing apples. Tell me more.”

Telling stories made the work easier. The next layer contained penknives, a wooden flute, and botany notebooks all in Tom's hand. Sophia flipped through the pages of each one, holding them upside down to let anything placed between the pages fall free. “Tom and the child struck up a friendship. Luca was fascinated with plants, and Tom found him a kindred spirit. He was of gentle birth, but impoverished, and Tom hired him as his assistant.”

“Assistant?”

“Tom claimed that any young boy who would watch him so intently for days on end had ability. Tom paid him exorbitantly. But his wages helped his remaining family, a sister, survive.”

“Where is Luca now?”

“He returned to Italy some weeks ago. His sister, who had remained at our villa, died, and her daughter, Liliana, was left with the remaining staff.”

“Left at your villa? The child had no other relatives?”

“Other than Luca? Yes, but . . . He and Liliana would live with us, if he wishes to return. Perhaps he will stay there, maintain the property, oversee the gardens. He's very capable.”

Aidan felt the indentation where he knew the board would release. In their youth, he had opened it in seconds. He coughed again to cover the click of the spring.

Sophia looked up with concern.

“It's nothing; just a bit of dust.”

“I'm almost to the bottom.... Just a minute and I'll come help you.”

Aidan felt in the space . . . paper . . . He pulled it out. A small packet of letters all in Italian, several in Tom's hand. From the dates, all were too old to be the papers they sought. He slid the packet into a pocket inside his waistcoat, hiding his motion by picking up the child's blanket. He pushed the board back in place as he coughed again. She was already standing to come help him.

“Perhaps this should go in the box of Ian's things?” He held out the blanket.

Her reaction was unexpected, a look of pain that disappeared in an instant. “No, it's not a child's blanket. It was Tom's—to keep out the chill of the evening. Luca's sister Francesca made it for him.” She turned her face away.

Without thinking, Aidan rose, took her in his arms, pressed her to his chest, caressed her hair. He meant only to comfort her, but his feelings had grown too complicated, even confusing. She might have loved Tom, but Aidan could still evoke her passion. He'd proved that already. Today he wanted more; he wanted all of her. He wanted to remind her that though Tom had been her husband, her first kisses had been with him. No, whether it was jealousy or renewed affection, he wanted her to remember everything they had been to one another.

He lifted her chin and kissed her lips lightly. He looked for some reaction, but she had closed her eyes. So he pressed his lips against hers more firmly, more insistently, the need for her that he had been suppressing swelling between them. He felt her body arch into his, as she stood on her toes, her breasts pressing against his chest.

He pushed back the scarf in her hair, nuzzled her ear, then kissed her neck.

* * *

Sophia had not expected him to embrace her. From the look of sympathy on his face, she had thought he intended only comfort. But she found herself remembering his kiss at the opera, his touches in the carriage. These present moments merged more and more with their past passion. Renewed grief made her reckless.

She turned her head to let him kiss her neck more easily. She wound her arms around him, one caressed the back of his neck, the other pulled him closer at the waist. He took advantage of her willingness, pressing his lips more insistently against hers, touching her lightly with his tongue, tasting the honey of her lips, and feeling the softness of her skin, until she opened her mouth to him. He kissed her lightly, then, teasing her mouth with the tip of his tongue, he explored that space that had been denied to him for too long. He longed to evoke the same open passion that he had found when he'd kissed her as a young woman, but still she held back. He increased his fervor.

Suddenly she gave in to her passion, let her tongue follow his, allowing him to touch the depths of her mouth. He felt her hands move against his back. He let his hand move to the side of her chest to caress its edge. When she gave no objection, he moved his hand more centrally, exciting her passion so that she would not refuse him.