They sat quietly for a while until Lars sighed, knowing every extra second was pressing the odds of being discovered. He used his handkerchief to mop her dripping cunt. She let him start, and then took over. She was too wet for just a handkerchief. She stood and took off her drawers and finished the job. With a little laugh, she handed them to him, and he grinned and stuck them in his pocket along with the handkerchief. Kissing her one last time, he mind-called his mother, telling her to send an extra carriage and that he’d be in touch after he tied matters up. He’d send Sophie to his mother while he took final care of Mallory, making sure of his security on the yacht and writing the necessary letter to Ibn Saud. He grinned at the thought of Ibn Saud receiving the letter, roaring at first and then hopefully being amused at such a present from Lars.
On second thought, it might be better to escort Mallory himself. He wanted no slip-up this time. Perhaps he should deliver Mallory personally. He’d keep checking the Caliph’s moods and see if he was receptive to a personal visit. He wanted to resume some kind of friendship with him. He missed the old reprobate. And he wanted to be certain Mallory received the fate he deserved. He’d better ask his mother for another footman.
He turned to Sophie and kissed her again. With passion, but not quite as uncontrolled as he’d been before.
“I’ll take care of everything, darling. And then I’ll come home and we can talk about a wedding date.”
He saw her eyes start to cloud, and he hurriedly kissed her again. This time open-mouthed, and lingering until he felt her passionate response. Out of the corner of his eye he saw three burly men in his own livery enter the auditorium and look around, and he broke off the kiss with one last caress of her thrusting breasts.
“My men are here and one will take you home to my mother. I’m going with the others to make sure Mallory is safely on board and on his way to hell. Then I’ll come home to you, and we can start making plans for our wedding. Nothing can keep us apart now that you’ve been avenged.”
Directing the men to pick up Mallory, Lars used his power to draw a cloud around them all, making them invisible as they quietly exited the building.
Chapter Ten
Sophie watched them leave, her eyes gradually showing the sorrow she’d forgotten when in his arms. She couldn’t marry this glorious man, even if her revenge had been more than accomplished. He’d avenged her, while she had done little but watch. She was still unworthy of him. The more he did for her, the more she realized her inferiority.
He didn’t need her in the way she wanted to be needed. He could always find a woman to satisfy his sexual needs, one more experienced and satisfying. If only she were someone special. Someone so special she couldn’t be duplicated in his heart or his mind.
She’d stay with his mother until he got home and then leave. This time for good.
Although she could never expect another Lars.
She turned to the remaining footman and smiled. “Thank you for coming for me. I’d like to go home now.”
With a pang she realized how much Viking Hall had become her home, and how she’d miss it once she left. Anyplace Lars lived was her home. Then she held her head high and followed the servant to the carriage waiting for her. She didn’t move as the carriage took her at least this once more to Lars’ home
The countess didn’t come to greet her, even though Sophie waited a minute in the great hall. Banning hurriedly came rushing in, his usually stoic face showing a trace of emotion Sophie couldn’t decipher.
“Miss Masters, I’m very glad to see you.”
His voice held a note Sophie couldn’t quite interpret. Doubtless he was sincere, but why?
“Is everything well, Banning? I’m very glad to be back, by the way.”
The butler hesitated only a second and then his worry poured out.
“It’s the countess, Miss Sophie. She’s not at all well.”
“And have you called the doctor?”
“She didn’t want me to, but she’s gotten worse so quickly I went against her wishes and sent him a message an hour ago. I’ve heard no word from him.”
Sophie remembered Lars’ curative powers and wished even more intensely he’d come home with her. She thought of how his injuries from Smythe’s beating had already started to heal. She’d watched his bruises lighten as he threw himself into rescuing her. If she could only have him beside her now. Well, she’d have to do what she could without him.
But what about the countess’ own healing powers? She was of elfin blood also. She must be indeed ill not to have been able to cure herself. And how could that have happened?
She hurried to the countess’ bedroom, filled with questions and equally full of doubts. She had no training in nursing. Her father had never been ill, and she’d had so little interaction with others as to be clueless about taking care of someone. Still, this was the countess. Lars’ beloved mother and a woman who’d been extraordinarily kind to her from the moment they’d met. Pray whatever magical force there be in this home that she could help.
Banning’s words hadn’t prepared her at all for the almost comatose woman she found lying still and pale on her bed. The countess was an alarming shade of gray-white and she barely could muster a smile when Sophie walked in. Horrified, Sophie rushed to the bed and knelt beside her, taking her limp hand and kissing it with the love she felt for this dear woman.
“Ma’am, it’s Sophie. What can I do for you? Can you tell me what happened?”
The countess lifted one hand and patted Sophie’s.
“Dear child. I’m so glad to see you. Forgive me for not greeting you at the door.”
Her voice was thready, not at all like her usual lively and gay tone. Sophie fought back tears and managed a smile.
“Well, I’m here, dear ma’am. Tell me how I can help. Did you catch a cold or are you over-tired?”
The countess sighed. Even that seemed an effort, and Sophie fought back her alarm.
“I’ve been so worried about you and Lars. Both for your safety and that you seem to be drifting apart. I can’t help but know a little about your problems.”
Sophie’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to smile.
“I’m here and safe, and Lars will come soon. And I love your son as much as any woman could.”
This last brought a slight smile to the sick woman’s face, but then she groaned and clutched her stomach.
Thoroughly alarmed, Sophie knew she had to ask some personal questions.
“How long have you felt this badly, ma’am? Can you tell me?”
“Oh not long. Only since I took the feverfew medicine Maria brought me. She knew I’ve been worrying and thought it would help.” She attempted a weak smile. “Well, it’s helped. I’m too tired to worry.”
She turned on her side, effectively shutting off conversation. Sophie looked frantically around the room. She immediately spotted the small brown bottle on the bedside table labeled “feverfew”. She didn’t know much about medicine, but she thought feverfew was harmless and did indeed soothe severe headaches. What had gone wrong? The countess’ words had been slurred, and even as Sophie watched, she clutched her stomach and groaned.
Picking up the bottle, she sniffed. It smelled like cigars. She’d never heard of that with feverfew. Sniffing again, a wave of terror struck her. This was not feverfew, or if it was it had been laced. With nicotine. And that meant the so-called medicine might actually be nightshade, a much deadlier plant than feverfew. Reportedly the poison Juliet had taken to kill herself when she thought Romeo was dead.
Her father had been close with his money, and Sophie had learned as a child to find cheap remedies when she caught a cold or a fever. Come to think of it, his habit of seldom heating their apartment had also been a part of his parsimonious ways. Maybe her self-taught knowledge would help her now. She’d read a great deal about herbal medicine, and sometimes wandered around finding plants she might need and drying them for future use.
Nightshade was deadly. She’d learned enough to never pick any, even though a small dose could on occasion be beneficial.
She hurried back to the countess’ bedside.
“Ma’am, could you please answer a few questions? Have you had nausea before I came? And I need to see if your eyes are focusing.”
The countess sighed. “Yes, my dear, and the nausea’s gone. Now I feel pleasantly numb. I’d really like to sleep.”
As she closed her eyes Sophie made up her mind. She took a deep breath and then summoned the maid who’d been standing at the side of the room.
“Your mistress is very ill,” she said softly. “You’re going to have to help me do something to her that will distress her. You’re Abbie, aren’t you?”
As the maid’s eyes widened Sophie continued. “I’ll see you’re not blamed in any way, but we must force her to vomit. She’s been accidentally poisoned, and we must get the poison out of her. Will you help me, or would you rather call someone else? We have little time to lose.”
The maid blanched, looked at her supine mistress, and then Sophie. Her resolute eyes gave Sophie her answer even before she spoke.
“Who would want to poison such a sweet lady? Are you sure, ma’am?”
Sophie was sure it was not an accident. The mislabeling of the bottle was damning.
“Let’s not worry about who did this now. I’m sure of the poisoning part. I need her lying on her stomach with her head hanging over the bed. I’m going to force her to vomit up any of the poison still in her system.”
They quickly arranged the now unconscious countess as Sophie wanted her. Calling for a large basin and towels, Sophie knelt beside the bed. There was no time to find and give her an emetic to force the vomiting. She knew nothing else to do but what she forced herself to do.
She swallowed hard once, gulped again, and then stuck her hand in the countess’ mouth, reaching deeper and deeper until the felt the stomach muscles contract. Withdrawing her hand instantly, she watched as the countess spewed the contents of her stomach into the bowl. When she finally stopped the violent retching, Sophie washed her face with wet cloths and motioned Abbie to help her get the countess into a normal sleeping position.
The countess barely moved as Sophie sat back on her heels and watched the maid make her mistress as comfortable as possible.
“Thank you so much, Abbie. We’ll change her night rail later. Now all we can do is wait and see if what we’ve done is enough. I won’t leave her tonight. If you’ll find me a blanket, I’ll sleep on the chaise.”
“Nor will I leave, miss. I’ll pile some pillows on the floor by her bed. I would be here if she needs me.”
Her almost pugnacious look amused Sophie, although she said nothing. She’d be glad to have company. She didn’t want to be left alone with her thoughts. She knew she’d done the right thing, but had she been in time?
She needed to know more about this Maria who’d brought the medicine. Was it deliberately poison, or somehow an accidental mistake? The latter seemed unlikely in view of the mislabeling.
“Abbie, one question before we both try to get some rest. Who is the Maria who brought the countess the medicine to calm her nerves?”
A flare of dislike crossed Abbie’s honest face.
“She’s an old friend of the family and the countess, ma’am. I always thought she wanted her daughter to marry the master. She’s the Countess Fordyce-Collins. None of us here like her, Miss Sophie.”
Sophie’s shock kept her from speaking. She couldn’t reveal her suspicions and anger to a servant. This must be the mother of the brazen chit who’d practically climbed Lars’ frame when he’d first brought Sophie home. Could she possibly think killing the countess would help her daughter win Lars? Did she think that in his grief he’d turn to longtime acquaintances? Or had she merely been angry at the thwarting of her desire to marry her daughter to the Count of Alfheim?
She said not a word, only a pleasant good night to Abbie. She lay down, fully clothed, on the chaise. She made sure the countess was well covered and then opened the window to battle the smell of vomit. She’d not sleep much, if at all. She wanted to check the countess frequently.
The countess stirred once, clutching her stomach feebly, and Sophie felt a slight bit of encouragement. Any movement was better than none.
* * * * *
Lars’ yacht lay in the bay near Constantinople. Calling his biggest sailor, he asked him to deliver a letter to the Caliph. Handing him an envelope sealed with his own crest, he sat back and waited.
In less than two hours he had his reply, and he grinned as he read the folded missive. His gamble had succeeded.
So you plan to marry the beautiful girl you stole from me. Love at first sight is more excusable than theft, you miserable rogue. I think I must see this valuable present you bring me. Come for the evening meal. Your sometimes friend, Ibn Saud, Caliph of Constantinople.
Hopefully he’d judged Ibn Saud correctly, and this was not a trick. He tapped the message on his desk as he pondered what to do. He thought he’d figured out Ibn Saud’s convoluted reasoning. If he were really angry the cunning Caliph would be more likely to use his cannon to blow Lars out of the water than invite him to dinner.
He’d take the chance. He wouldn’t take Mallory, as he realized the Caliph was probably expecting a luscious female for his harem rather than a beefy man.
With a chuckle he called for hot water for his bath. He could always transfer himself home, after all, and he’d really missed the old reprobate. Glowing with anticipation, he knew all his powers had returned, and he thought even enhanced.
* * * * *
Bathed, shaven and in his favorite Arab robe, Lars presented himself to the Caliph. He was not about to ruffle Ibn Saud’s feather in any obvious way. He salaamed deeply as he was admitted to the Caliph’s presence.
Ibn Saud’s eyes glittered as he entered.
“You are either very brave or very foolish, Count Lars. I could have you clapped in chains and thrown to the sharks, even while I blasted your small yacht out of my waters.”
Lars raised his head and looked directly into the Caliph’s guarded eyes.
“But we are old friends, are we not? And I bring you a gift you will appreciate in time.”
“A beautiful new slave? To make up for the one you stole?”
The Caliph’s eyes shone as he regarded Lars with awakened interest.
“I’m afraid he’s not at all beautiful. In fact I think he’s repulsive.”
As the Caliph’s eyes darkened, Lars hurried on.
“But he’s unusually proficient and a known professor of mathematics. I think he could well instruct all your eunuchs. His learning should be of great benefit to you. He knows much about modern mathematics and how it can be applied.”
Ibn Saud’s eyes glittered. “He’s a eunuch?”
“Not yet, your eminence. Not yet.”
Ibn Saud regarded him for a moment, trying to smother his smile.
“And what do you have against this learned man, Lars?”
Lars smiled his sweet smile that would disarm a saint.
“He’s the one who captured my Sophie and sold her into slavery. He endangered our friendship by forcing me to rescue her before I could explain my interest to you. If you do not want him I’ll be glad to kill him. But I think you could profit from his knowledge. Especially if he’s suitably trained to your service.”